


The Greatest Charlatan

by trajektoria



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: All characters are human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Biotics (Mass Effect), Comedy, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Inspired by The Greatest Showman (2017), M/M, Musical, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Sara and Jaal is a side romance, the greatest showman au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-04-24 16:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trajektoria/pseuds/trajektoria
Summary: New York, late nineteenth century. Reyes Vidal, who has spent most of his life in the gutters, has only one dream – to be someone. To achieve that dream and enter high society he decides to open the House of Wonders, a place of entertainment where all the performers are freaks and outcasts. The controversy brings him a lot of money, but will it actually give him the happiness and validation he seeks? Things only get more complicated when Scott Ryder, a young aristocrat with a unique talent, desperately wants to be a part of the show. And, if things go well, a part of Reyes’ life as well.The Greatest Showman mreyder AU you never thought you wanted.





	1. The Greatest Show

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written and I have no regrets. While watching the movie, I could only think about Reyes in a red suit and golden top hat, singing and dancing. And that's how this fic was born. Forgive me for all historical inaccuracies, this story is 100% for fun.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Big thanks to [captainjennhart](http://captainjennhart.tumblr.com/) who is the best beta ever. You rock! <3
> 
> The fic contains lyrics from the Greatest Showman. Nothing belongs to me, no money is involved, it's 100% for fun. Go watch the movie, the soundtrack is amazing!

Reyes wasn’t sure what he was feeling exactly, but he was feeling a lot.

Moved to his very core, he took off his worn-out top hat and tilted his head back to admire the view in reverent awe. He could hardly believe his eyes. It felt so much like a dream still, the grandiose Victorian building with shining red letters above the entrance – Vidal’s House of Wonders – nothing but a figment of his imagination. Acting on some silly impulse, he took a step closer and actually touched the wall, the porous brick solid and real as he stroked it with his fingertips. He might have even kissed it if he hadn’t stopped himself in time, retaining some modicum of propriety.

To think that he – an orphaned, dark-skinned immigrant, poor as dirt, fighting tooth and nail to survive all his life – was now renting a theater in the center of New York. What were the odds? It wasn’t an easy journey though. He had to beg, borrow and steal to get the money, a few frauds and one blackmail added to his list of misconducts. He wasn’t exactly proud of what he had done but didn’t feel any remorse either. That was all in the past now. In front of him was only the bright future, fortune and respect. He’d show all these Tanns, Garsons, and Ryders his true worth and make them bow before him. He’d finally be someone.

Reyes reached into the pocket of his old suit and took from there a key. With bated breath but giddiness in his heart, he stepped to the door and slid it into the lock. It turned with an unpleasant creak, but Reyes hardly noticed. This was his kingdom now. Like a king, he strutted down the shabby hallway. The peeling walls, torn curtains, smeared posters mattered not. In his mind’s eye he saw bright colors, pulsing life all around, thousands of grins and thousands of voices erupting from excited crowds. Yes, he could feel it, he could hear the music, hear the elated stomping, hear the steady _cha-ching_ of money flowing like a river right into his safe. And it was glorious.

Pep in his gait, he walked through the wings, blind to the dust covering abandoned theater props and costumes. Soon, very soon, everything would come alive again. Just as the light did when Reyes flicked the main switch.

Laughing to himself, he ran towards the stage, the central piece surrounded by now empty stands. The unadjusted spotlights were all over the place, but one was thankfully focused more or less in the center. Reyes stepped into the circle of light. He threw his arms out and basked in the warmth and the glory, soaking it all in.

Closing his eyes, he imagined this place a month from now. Full to the brim, the foundations shaking from gasps and laughter, him riding a high of love and adoration.

Yes. He felt powerful, invincible.

“ _It’s everything you ever want, it’s everything you ever need, and it’s here right in front of you, this is where you wanna be_ ,” Reyes sang, his voice strong and unfaltering, bouncing off the walls, boosted twofold by the echo. He let the music within him gain momentum, his body moving to a rhythm only he could hear, the lyrics he had written during countless sleepless nights dripping with meaning. “ _It’s everything you ever want, it’s everything you ever need, and it’s here right in front of you, this is where you wanna be, this is where you wanna be…_ ”

Soon, very soon, he’d be the ruler of this city, drinking champagne with politicians, dancing with princesses and seducing aristocrats. He’d belong to the elite, he’d be one of them and people would finally give him the respect he deserved. The world would lie at his feet and beg to lick the soles of his shoes.

“ _This is the greatest show!_ ” he boomed out, putting his foot down to punctuate the end of this little performance. His head swayed from the cheers and clapping and whistles, the imaginary audience mad with delight, their smiling lips repeating his name, demanding more and more and more.

But first, of course, the show had to be made.

Reyes reached into the pocket of his suit to get his gilded watch – old and bent, the only thing that remained after his father ended up in some unnamed poor man’s grave. He flipped it open and checked the time. Almost twelve. He needed to go.

Nothing but excitement coursing through his veins, he power-walked to the room that from that moment on would serve as the office of the Director of this place – his place. Time to pick the performers and the crew. The leaflets were all over the city, announcing that he was searching for the most extraordinary freaks of nature and that the payment would be good. _Wanted! Unique persons and curiosities! Male or female, young or old. Daring acts! Wonders of the world!_ And all the necessary details in the fine print.

Now it was time to reap what he had sown and to separate the wheat from the chaff.

 

* * *

The first applicant who entered his office was a woman. At least he supposed she was a woman. Colorful robes covered most of her body except for the head. Terribly deformed head. Reyes had never seen anything like it. Some form of skull deformation, an odious one at that, making her resemble more a feral animal than a human being. She had no hair – none whatsoever, not even eyebrows or eyelashes – and where her ears were supposed to be grew some sort of weird drooping lumps of inflated skin, reaching nearly to her collarbones. Her nose was completely flat, her forehead jutting out strangely, creating a ridge above her eye sockets, and her cheeks worryingly hollow as if she had been starving to the point of emaciation. A person like that was sure to cause quite a stir wherever she appeared.

Reyes had learned a trick or two playing poker, so not even one muscle twitched on his face as the woman sat in the chair opposite him. Unfazed, he looked straight into her eyes. Her eyes, much bigger than they should be, all blue and with a vertical pupil like in a reptile or a feline. And yet they were calm and filled with intelligence he honestly hadn’t expected to find.

Exactly the type of person this show needed. Reyes was intrigued.

“Good morning. I’m pleased to have you here,” he greeted her, extending his hand towards her. She took it into hers – only three fingers there – and offered a firm shake. This time it was harder not to flinch. As she let go of him, he discreetly wiped his palm against his trousers.  “I’m Reyes Vidal, what is your name?”

“Keema. Keema Dorghun,” she said. Surprisingly, her voice sounded normal, if a little raspy. Quite pleasant to the ear, actually.

“Okay, Keema. Tell me, what is your talent?”

“Aside from being so hideous that people throw tomatoes at me and call it an improvement when they splatter on my face?” She chuckled, amusement glinting in her eyes. Reyes shifted uncomfortably in his chair but she waved it off, not making a big deal out of it. “I’m a mean singer. And I’m also pretty smart.”

“Can you give me a sample of your skills?”

“Which one? Intelligence? Or singing? Because my repulsive appearance is rather self-evident.”

Reyes covered a snort of laughter with a polite cough.

“Let’s go with singing, please.”

“All right.” She cleared her throat and closed her eyes, focusing. Reyes didn’t rush her. The voice finally left her parted lips.

“ _I am not a stranger to the dark. Hide away, they say, ‘cause we don’t want your broken parts. I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars. Run away, they say, no one’ll love you as you are_.”

The melody couldn’t have been prettier if an angelic choir descended to Earth and gave a concert at the Metropolitan. Reyes listened with eyes wide open and his jaw hanging slack. She hit all the notes perfectly, crystal clear, not faltering even once. Nature, who had wronged this woman so cruelly, made up for that with the sheer amount of talent she possessed.

“Amazing,” Reyes said as she ended.

“Thank you. I like to sing,” she admitted, some color appearing on her pale face.

“What is that song? Is there more?”

“No, that’s the only part I have so far. I wrote it myself, but my muse is fickle.”

Reyes made a pyramid with his fingers and put it in front of his face. His mind was whirling, full speed ahead, to figure out the best course of action.

“Singing is great, but remember that this is a show. So there must be something else, something to draw people in…” He trailed off. And then he got it, an idea, so good he slapped his thigh in excitement. “A cat! We’ll dress you up as a cat. Maybe glue some whiskers to your face. A cat-woman singing on stage! Brilliant! That’s what people would want to see!”

Keema didn’t share his enthusiasm. If anything, she seemed lost in thought.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vidal,” she said, not leaving her thoughtful state, “but I don’t think that would work. A cat? That’s not exotic enough, cats are boring. Make me into a lion. I can roar as I enter the stage, and my ears could easily be turned into a mane with some make up and fake fur. We can even add a tail for good measure. Tell them that I am the fruit of an unholy union between a predator and a human abandoned in the jungle and raised by a pack of lions. I led them with the power of my voice until I was saved by missionaries and taught human language. The more improbable and wild the story, the better. Sell them the big lie, make them gasp in awe as you plant the seeds of anxiousness. And I will make that garden bloom.”

Reyes gawked at her. Nodded slowly. And smiled, the big grin of someone on the brink of striking gold.

“I have a feeling we’re going to be friends, you and I,” he said and shook her hand again, this time with fervor and without disgust. “Call me Reyes, by the way.”

“So I’m hired?” she asked, a little stunned.

“Absolutely!” He beamed. “Welcome to the House of Wonders!”

 

* * *

 

“I’m Reyes Vidal, what’s your name?”

“Kian Dagher.” An ordinary-looking man in his mid-twenties shook his hand and smiled in a very laidback manner. Reyes gave him a quick once-over. Not particularly handsome, but not ugly either, he spoke with an Irish accent so thick Reyes started to crave a pint of beer. 

“Okay, Kian, why do you think you’ll be a good addition to our show?”

“Let me show you.”

Kian stood up from the chair, stepped on it and using swift, slithering motions promptly bended the laws of physics and biology by nearly tying his whole body into a tidy knot. Standing on his one hand, the other twisted around his neck twice, while his legs dangled at impossible angles at both sides of his head, Kian’s relaxed smile didn’t waver. A stroll in the park on a sunny afternoon, and not painfully tearing your tendons and breaking your joints.

“So I can do that. And… well, I can mix some seriously nice drinks.”

Reyes laughed and patted his protruding ribs.

“You’re hired. And as for drinks, we’re definitely going to test that talent later.”

 

* * *

A young, timid woman with ginger hair, staring anywhere but Reyes’ eyes. She looked dainty, almost like a porcelain doll.

“What’s your name?”

“Crux, sir,” she muttered to the tips of her muddy boots.

“What is your talent, Crux?”

She picked on the seams of her blouse, still avoiding his gaze.

“I dunno if that’s a talent, but my ma says that I’m so strong that no gent would want me so maybe at least you will take me off her back.”

Reyes looked skeptically at her fragile arms.

“I see… Well, I’d love to see that strength in action. Could you lift something for me?”

“Uh-huh. What?”

Reyes looked around the office, searching for what would be the heaviest.

“My desk.” He just hoped that the girl wouldn’t hurt herself trying.

“Uh-huh.” She jumped to the floor from the chair and walked forward, ungainly. She put one tiny hand on top of the desk, the other under it. There was no concentration, no muscles straining, no veins bulging on her neck. She just lifted it above her head, no big deal, careful not to let any papers fly to the floor.

Reyes gawked, at a loss for words. He could barely push that damn thing a few inches to the right as he was furnishing the room. Damn.

“Okay, you’re hired. Just put it back, please. Exactly in the same spot. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

It’s never a good sign if your potential employee smiles at you maniacally.

“Your name, please?”

The grimace on her face coupled with her bluish skin was really disconcerting. As was her outfit, plain trousers and a shirt, decidedly not very ladylike.

“Lynx. Sneaky like a tomcat but deadly like a lion.”

Reyes almost told her that they already had a lion, but his savvy business sense overcame his pettiness.

“Okay, Lynx. What can you show me?”

The woman whipped two small pouches from her pockets. From that moment on, Reyes had very little idea what was going on. There were explosions, loud wheezes, and eruptions of colorful lights everywhere around the room, some of the sparks creating familiar shapes, like tiny birds or trees and some just dazzling and overloading his senses.

After the spectacle, Reyes was shell-shocked. He blinked the dancing black spots away and snapped his fingers near his ear to see if his hearing was still intact.

“Okay, you’re hired. But next time warn me that you’re planning to unleash a battlefield inside my office.”

When she left the room, he had to air it out for ten minutes.

 

* * *

 

“What’s your name?”

“Bob.”

“…Okay. Bob.” Reyes eyed the middle-aged man, more scars than clear patches of skin all over his body. “My pleasure. What can you do?”

“I’m Bob the Sniper.”

“…And what can you do, Bob the Sniper?”

“Snipe.”

“Mhm. Maybe a demonstration?”

The man whipped out a pistol he’d been hiding under his jacket and shot down the fly that had been buzzing about and driving Reyes nuts all day. A hole in the wall was the unfortunate collateral damage.

“Okay, Bob. You’re hired. Although next time just use the swatter.”

 

* * *

 

Reyes sighed, rubbing the side of his face. The auditions had taken longer than expected. As the door closed behind the last applicant, the clock’s hands pointed to eleven thirty-five p.m. Tired as he was, he couldn’t help feeling satisfied. He had managed to gather quite a merry group of oddballs and freaks. Keema, Kian, Crux, Lynx, and Bob the Sniper, but also a dwarf named Volus; Vetra and Sid, incredibly tall sibling acrobats; Dr. Nakamoto, in charge of taking care of animals; and a few others, including the crew who would manage the performance from backstage, making sure that everything went smoothly. All in all, thirty-two people. Thirty-two people under his command.

Reyes jokingly called them The Collective, as it was truly a bizarre collection of unusual individuals, possibly the most eclectic this city had ever seen.

Excellent.

Reyes stifled a yawn. Okay, now was the time to get some sleep. The true work would start tomorrow, this was just the beginning, the first step towards his dreams.

“ _This is the greatest show_ ,” he sang under his breath, a smile lighting up his tired face, as he locked the office door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bob the Sniper was inspired by a dumb tumblr post in which the sniper who took down Sloane Kelly introduces himself as Bob to the team while Ryder and Reyes are busy making out. It made me laugh so I just rolled with it. 
> 
> The song sung by Reyes: [The Greatest Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IhOCFuCdjw/)  
> The song sung by Keema: [This is Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDL33yN2oQ8)


	2. The Other Side

“Fuck,” Scott muttered emphatically under his breath, glowering at his reflection in the big standing mirror that easily showed the six feet of his tux-clad body in all its glory. He wasn’t paying enough attention before, his thoughts all over the place, and ended up buttoning his shirt wrong. Not the appearance that was expected of him at the Garson’s grand ball. Scott groaned, unbuttoned everything petulantly and tried again.

Why did he even bother? He didn’t want to go to this snooze fest in the first place. Bunch of dull old people and even duller youngsters bragging about their fashionable outfits and new estates they acquired. All smiles and politeness, but as soon as you turned your back you could expect nothing but a knife to the ribs.

It was getting harder and harder to keep the courteous mask on in their company. Scott just hoped that today wouldn’t be the day he finally lost it and told everyone what he thought about them right to their haughty faces.

Scott sighed, his shoulders drooping. Yeah, as if such disobedience was an option in the first place. Dad would murder him if the grimace on his face that passed for a smile faltered even a bit.

Thinking about tonight made him want to howl.

The knock on his bedroom door did little to improve his mood.

“I’m coming! Jeez… Give me five minutes!”

“Five minutes? It would take five hours to make a presentable man out of you!” Not waiting for permission, Sara flung the door open and barged inside, slamming it shut behind herself.

Scott didn’t turn around but had a perfect view of his sister in the mirror. Sara was his twin and that fact was obvious to anyone who had seen them side by side. Scott might have been taller and bulkier like men usually were, but they shared the same facial structure, identical light brown color of their hair and a pair of big baby blue eyes. But while his seemed dimmed from hopelessness and frustration, hers were shining like stars in a cloudless sky.

“And here it took you only half an hour to turn yourself into a clown,” Scott said, raising an eyebrow at her airy, flowery dress, so bright and pink it was as if she had rolled around in candy floss.

“I’m not taking fashion advice from someone who can’t button up their shirt properly,” she snapped back, jutting out her chin.

“Touché.” Scott snorted, still struggling with his wardrobe. “Fuck. Can I go without this blasted shirt?”

“If Dad sees you, you’ll be without your head.”

Scott ground his molars. She was probably right. He grumbled a string of curses and recommenced the battle with the uncooperative outfit.

Light as if dancing on clouds, Sara skipped to the middle of the room and twirled around. In motion, the dress actually had some appeal, spread out like petals of a rose.

“Do you think Jaal will like it?” she asked, a hint of anxiousness in her voice.

“My dear sister, Jaal will like you in anything. You could parade in front of him in a potato sack and he’d compliment the seams. Still, if you must know, I think he’d like you the most naked.”

Seeing her turn bright red was very satisfying. As was hearing her outraged gasp.

“Scott! You rascal!”

Scott laughed at that, finishing with the buttons. He smoothed his clothes, judging his appearance with a critical eye. Well, good enough, he supposed. Dad should be appeased.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just jealous and bitter,” he said, only half-joking. “And I very, very much don’t want to attend this party. Be merciful and stab me in the eye with your brooch.”

“Not a chance. I’ll kill you and be hanged as if I’d killed a human being.” She sported a mischievous smile. “But I have something here that will make you feel better. No violence involved.”

Scott watched in the mirror as she took a piece of paper from between the folds of her dress. She waved it encouragingly, probably expecting him to come closer.

Scott had a different idea. Smirking, he extended his hand. Instantly, a purplish aura enveloped his skin. The paper was torn out of Sara’s fingers and flew like a bullet straight into Scott’s grasp.

“Scott!” Sara hissed, her eyes darting left and right as if someone might be hiding in the room and spying on them. “If Dad saw you using your powers…”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and spoke again, parroting the Ryder senior’s manner of speaking. “ _Young man, I think I have been very specific that you are forbidden to use your… abominable magic. Imagine the scandal and disgrace, the blemish on the Ryder name, the eternal shame of having the impure curse of biotics manifesting in our blood, you’ll be branded a devil’s spawn blah blah blah._ ” Scott made a gagging sound, which at least made Sara chuckle nervously. He’d heard the same thing over and over again for as long as he could remember. First time probably when he was five or so and accidentally made a cuddly toy float from the shelf into his affection-starved arms. Dad lost his mind then and scared him half to death with a vision of the world sneering and hating him. Mom was too gone already, her reality reduced to ebbing and flowing waves of excruciating pain. Always with a high fever and half lucid because of the drugs, she barely recognized them anymore.

How different would his life be if she was still alive, Scott wondered sometimes with an aching heart.

Only with Sara, when they were alone, could he actually be himself, unleash that little bit of magic that came to him as naturally as breathing. He wasn’t that terrified little boy anymore.

“You don’t know how it is,” he said, gloomy. “Imagine not ever being able to use your left arm in public. That’s how it feels for me.”

“It’s not the same thing, Scottie, and you know it,” she insisted, as if she was trying to tell off an obstinate child. Sara sympathized with him, he knew, but she was too much like Dad to actually get it. A lost cause. “Just shut up and read the thing since you’ve already stolen it from me.”

Scott scoffed in that stubborn ‘don’t tell me what to do’ kind of way but then took a glance at the paper he had acquired.

It was a low-quality leaflet advertising something called ‘Vidal’s House of Wonders.’ Under the caption was an address and a drawing of a hideous woman with a lion’s mane. A truly odd sight, one that, as much as he hated to admit it, flared up his curiosity. 

“Visit the Vidal’s House of Wonders,” he began reading aloud, “the place where anticipation, amazement and adventure come together to form a unique spectacle. Witness the strangest of people on this planet showing their extraordinary talents. Come to see the show and your life will never be the same.”

“What do you think?” Sara asked with an innocent smile on her face. Scott knew her well enough not to be fooled even for a second.

“Sounds cheesy and ridiculous. But intriguing,” he admitted under his sister’s watchful gaze. “And definitely like something that Dad would never allow us to see.”

“Mhm. We could get in trouble if we go…”

“You already procured the tickets, haven’t you?”

“I’m appalled that you’d even suggest such a thing,” she said straight-faced, but her eyes crinkled playfully.

Scott laughed. Sara might seem like the less wild twin, but still waters run deep. They shared a conspiratorial look.

“The Ryders’ secret escapade number two thousand seventy-four?”

“Surely at least two thousand seventy-nine.”

They laughed again. True to her word, Sara really had made him feel a little better.

“The show’s next week. I have two tickets. I mean, I want to go, but if in the meantime Dad finds you a nice wife…” she trailed off, fluttering her eyelashes.

Scott’s mood soured immediately.

“Stop. Just stop. I’ve told you and I’ve told Dad numerous times that I don’t want to get a wife. Not now, not ever. Period.”

“Well, you’re gonna get one sooner or later regardless, it’s just how it goes.” She shrugged matter-of-factly. A cold shiver ran down his spine only to turn into a spark of rebellion. A wife? Over his dead body. “And then you’ll produce a bunch of overexcited squirts and I’ll be able to be a cool aunt and spoil them rotten.”

Oh no, no no. _No_.

“No wife. And definitely no children.” He shook his head, his stomach churning at the prospect of sharing his bed and his life with some woman. He lowered his voice, a feeling of dread compelling him not to stay silent. “You know that my interest lies elsewhere.”

“You may have a nice tumble in the sheets with a pretty boy from time to time, Scott,” she replied, just as quietly, “but you can’t seriously think that something more can come out of it. Like it or not, you’ll need to get a wife or the people will start talking. And you need to keep the family going so you can’t escape kids either. I just hope that you’ll find a woman who won’t mind your… interest.”

Scott felt hollow, as if she’d reached inside him and ripped out a part of his soul. She was right, of course. No question about it. But damn, it still hurt. Why was it that even though Sara was the one wearing a corset it was him who had trouble breathing?

She noticed the expression on his face and Scott saw pity glistening in her eyes. If anything, it made him bristle up. He didn’t need pity, neither from her nor from anyone else.

“It’s not that bad, Scott,” she said, her hand reaching to stroke his arm in a comforting manner. “Relationships can be amazing, if you just meet the right person.”

“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, taking a step back to escape from her touch. It was uncouth of him, he knew, just as he knew that in her own way Sara really was trying to show his bleak prospects in a more positive light. But he was also hurting and lashing out seemed like the best way to soothe the pain. “You’re in love with the man with whom you are supposed to be engaged soon. No one is forcing you to marry, you’re practically jumping on the opportunity.”

She was aware of that, of course. But she also had to suffer through his bad moods more than any other person. She had experience with how to deal with it, how to placate him.

“Scott, I feel for you, I really do. And I’m not your enemy here. I really want you to be happy.” She put her hand on his arm again and this time he didn’t pull back. “And I hope that despite everything you will be able to find love. Because… it’s just, I don’t know how to describe it. It’s as if suddenly you discovered an infinity of colors in your life, all around you rich purples, reds and oranges.”

Scott looked her straight in the eye.

“My world is gray, Sara,” he said, his voice laced with the resignation he felt. “A gray prison.”

“Oh Scott…” She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a warm hug. Scott accepted it in silence, burying his face in her shoulder. He would really miss her when she married and left the house. His only ally in this cold place gone to live across the pond.

The connection didn’t last long.

“Scott! Sara! What is taking the two of you so long?”

Scott sighed and pulled away, putting on a brave face.

“Let’s go. Before Dad commits twincide.”

Sara swatted his arm lightly, but her chuckle told him all he needed to know about her appreciation of the joke.

 

* * *

 

“…from the main branch of the Kjar family. Her dowry is sizeable and I heard that her brother…”

Scott tuned his father out, Alec’s voice coming somewhere from afar, barely audible, even though they sat side by side in the rickety carriage. Not looking in his direction, Scott just stared out the window through the curtains, his mind wandering freely while his body was stuck in an uncomfortable suit, stiff collar and the vehicle taking him towards hours upon hours of wanting nothing more than to slit his wrists with the fish fork. He liked to watch people pass by, wrapped up in their own private affairs, and wonder what kind of life they led. Were they happy? Did they have a loved one, someone that waited for them at home and greeted them with a kiss as they stepped over the threshold? Was their life exciting, each day bringing about new challenges and adventures?

“…their daughter Jill, she is quite charming and…”

Scott sighed. He was this close to banging his forehead against the glass. Or using his powers to tear the seat out just for the hell of it.

“Hey, Scott, look!” Sara tapped his knee and pointed towards something on the other side of the carriage. Scott leaned towards the opposite window, straining his sight. “There!”

He followed her finger. His face lit up. A huge poster had just been rolled down from a building, so huge that it literally took almost the entirety of the wall. _Vidal’s House of Wonders_ – the letters screamed in garish colors, right above a drawing of several people indulging in truly amazing feats. Some seemed to be flying under the ceiling, a man bent his body in impossible ways, a dwarf was riding a horse, a tiny woman supported a huge stone above her head with just one hand. There were others of course, but what really drew attention to the poster was the person right at the center, the biggest of the bunch. A brown-skinned man wearing a red suit and a golden top hat, set on his head at a nonchalant angle, and sporting the most roguish smile Scott had ever seen. And a wink. That wink could not be ignored by any means. ‘Let yourself be dazzled!’ said the line at the very bottom of the ad.

Ha! Whatever this show was, that Vidal person truly had a lot of nerve.

Alec, so unceremoniously interrupted, didn’t look too pleased, not pleased at all. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the thing that preoccupied his children. The scoff he uttered couldn’t have been more contemptuous if he’d tried.

“This garbage is all around the city now. No sense of style. The spectacle will surely be extremely vulgar and low-brow,” he said.

For the first time since forever Scott truly hoped that his father would be right about something.

“Definitely not something that people from our social sphere should be concerned about,” Sara deadpanned, not even batting an eye. “These posters are tacky and a disgrace to the image of our beautiful city.”

“Exactly.” Alec nodded, quite pleased.

Scott exchanged brief glances with his sister, barely stopping himself from laughing. If their dad only knew what his less problematic child was really like, he’d probably lose all his graying hair to stress. But Sara always knew how to say exactly what he wanted to hear, thus wrapping him right around her little finger. Scott couldn’t do that. More snark than smarts, he was constantly on the warpath with Ryder senior.

“Scott,” his father addressed him directly, pulling him out of his reverie. “I know that Miss Harper will be attending the party tonight. Make a good impression on her, talk to her.”  

Scott groaned. Here we go again…

“Talk? About what, Dad?” he snorted. “We have nothing in common. She’s into gardening and weird religious texts!”

Uh-oh, here comes Alec Ryder’s signature scowl.

“Her family is one of the richest in the city and if our factories merge, then…”

“And she’s also very pretty,” Sara interrupted, trying to diffuse Scott’s oncoming furious outburst. “You’re being unfair, Scott. She’s really nice.”

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to five in his mind before speaking.

“You know what else is nice? Chocolate cake. Doesn’t mean I want to marry it.”

Alec furrowed his eyebrows, his displeasure palpable.

“Listen to me, young man. You will behave yourself. I won’t let you bring shame to this family. Think what your mother would have said to that.”

Ouch. Now that was a low blow.

Despite vibrating with outrage, Scott bit his tongue. As tempting as it would be to make a snide remark and piss his dad off royally, he didn’t want to risk being grounded, not right before the show. Sure, they would probably still be able to sneak out – few things could stop a determined biotic – but he didn’t need unnecessary complications nor did he want to miss even one second of the show. Finally, he had something to look forward to.

Such a strange feeling for someone so adrift and just bumbling aimlessly through life. Scott quite liked it.

A lot.

In silence, they rode on.

 

* * *

 

With a perfect winsome smile, Scott nodded at yet another person in the crowd. Inside he was rolling his eyes so hard that his inward doppelganger was most likely suffering from a nasty case of vertigo. He took another sip of an excellent champagne, swallowing with it his very raw need to scream. It was already his third glass tonight and he was just warming up. He would never survive this shindig sober.

As people brushed against him, his skin crawled. He occupied a strategic position in the corner, a typical wallflower, but even here there were people talking and talking and talking some more about one bullshit or another. The center of the room was full of dancing couples, spinning slowly to the live music produced by an orchestra. One of these pairs was Sara and Jaal.

Scott had been peering at Jaal so intently that the man finally broke his eye contact with Sara and stared back at him. Scott lifted his glass of champagne in salutations, earning himself a nod and a smile. He liked Jaal well enough. For an English aristocrat with an unpronounceable family name and more siblings than Scott could count, he was actually okay. Smart, handsome, caring and with a keen sense of humor which wasn’t a given among this bunch of sticks in the mud. He was perhaps a little… forward with his affection, wanting pretty much to shout from the rooftops how much he loved Sara Ryder, but Scott could overlook that. Especially since Sara didn’t seem to mind. Far from it. They were both disgustingly mushy and in love. Scott once overhead Jaal saying that Sara ‘made his heart sing.’ Ugh.

Okay, maybe Scott was simply jealous. A little bit. He wished someone would look at him the way Jaal looked at Sara. As if she hung the moon and stars. Maybe for them it really felt as if the world had been painted all the colors of the rainbow, he could believe that. But that wasn’t for him.

Scott looked around the room, discreetly singling out all the young, eligible women that his father had talked about at some point. Objectively speaking, they didn’t look too bad. And they weren’t completely dull. Some of them caught his gaze and offered him an encouraging smile. Cora Harper seemed genuinely happy to see him. Scott quickly looked away.

He couldn’t do this anymore, he couldn’t, he was on the verge of breaking down.

With one large swig he finished the champagne and put his empty glass on a tray carried around by a waiter. Having had enough of all this, he cut across the room, needing to squeeze between groups of people. Muttering polite apologies, he could sense his father’s disapproving look always able to zone in on him. Scott knew that he couldn’t hide forever, but who would fault him for wanting a moment to breathe in some fresh air? Hopefully Dad would allow him that much freedom. Or maybe this season suffocating was all the rage.

Scott slipped through the door leading to a small balcony and inhaled deeply, like a drowning man trying to save himself. Much better now, the stuffy atmosphere left behind. He closed the door and walked to the railing, his head tilted upwards. The night sky was bright tonight, half of the moon visible and all the stars scattered on the dark canvas blinking to him in a soothing way.

Gripping the metal hard, Scott leaned over to look at the dark garden below. How easy would it be to just use his powers and fly down, then run across the lawn, hop the fence and disappear into the night, never to be seen again. No more parties, no more hiding who he was, no more impossible expectations, no more father controlling and criticizing his every step.

And no more food, no more home, no more family.

Scott sighed, rubbing at his face. He was so tired. Twenty-two but feeling as if he had lived four times as long. How long could he keep it up before he shattered to pieces?

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Surprised, Scott turned around. And smiled, his first genuine smile since stepping into this house.

“Suvi!”

She came to him and threw her arms around his neck. He embraced her promptly as well, enjoying the hug. It was hardly appropriate behavior between people of the opposite sex, but if someone saw them the gossip would die out as soon as it appeared. After all, family wasn’t forbidden from showing one another a little affection, right?

Scott pulled back, a radiant smile on his face. He still remembered the seven-year-old Suvi that liked to lick rocks. As far as he knew, the pretty ginger woman she had grown to be still did the same thing but this time called it science.

“How are you, Suvi?” he asked. “I didn’t know you were back from Scotland already.”

“I returned just a couple of days ago. Sorry, but I didn’t have time to call on you,” she replied with an apologetic smile. Scott waved it off to show that there was no harm done. “Unfortunately, my mother decided that I’ve spent far too much time away from the salons so here I am.”

“Mhm, I can see that you’re socializing like crazy.” Scott grinned. Suvi gave him a mock-stern look.

“You know that I don’t really like crowds. And if I have to talk about the weather one more time I swear I will throw myself into the punch.”

“You sure? Because the temperature is just perfect and the gentle breeze...”

Suvi put her elbow between his ribs. Scott laughed.  

Leaning against the railing, both of them stared into the distance, enjoying the companionable silence. The muffled sounds of the city and bugs chirping in the garden were the only noises here. Scott felt so peaceful. As if the party inside didn’t exist, nothing more than a bad memory, something that happened once in a nightmare and mattered no more.

But reality came rushing in far quicker than he wanted.

“My mother insists that I should find a husband soon.”

Scott looked at Suvi, at her grim expression, at the way she kept tugging at the seams of her green ball gown.

“My father wants the same from me,” he admitted. “I need to pick a wife.”

“I don’t want a husband.”

“I don’t want a wife.”

“Maybe we should marry each other.” Suvi winked at him good-naturedly.

“Too bad we’re cousins.”

They both laughed without mirth, two partners in crime sharing a secret that would land them in jail or a mental asylum. He’d only let Suvi and Sara know, and as far as he knew Suvi trusted only him. He felt honored.

“I think I found a way to escape marriage, though. For now, at least,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I want to go to the university.”

“Are you sure?” Scott raised an eyebrow. Not that he had any doubts that Suvi wouldn’t outsmart anyone on campus. “It’s tough.”

“I’ve never been surer about anything in my life,” she replied, and he could hear that certainty in her voice. “That’s what I want, Scott. I want to be a scientist. Do my own research. Understand the world and help people.”

“I wish you good luck,” he said, genuine. “I know you’ll do marvelously.”

She smiled at him, a silent thank you. Not often enough did she hear words of support.

“And you, Scott? What do _you_ want?”

What did he want?

Scott looked into the sky again, at the pale moon and stars so far away.

“I don’t know. To be free, I guess. To be myself. To breathe.”

Suvi put her hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“I hope you get what you want.”

They stood in silence and admired the view until the world remembered about them and they were forced to go back inside the mansion.

 

 


	3. Come Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, I was away from home for a month. From now on *sings* I'll do better. 
> 
> Let me know if you're still reading this. Kudos and comments makes the writing world go round.

Reyes slipped his fingers between the curtains and peeked carefully through the tiny aperture. The stands were slowly filling up with people. Young, old, whole families and individuals curious enough to come here on their own. The majority of the audience wore tattered clothes that indicated their poor material status but a few middle-class spectators had also decided to show up. From the distance and in the anemic lights it was impossible to gauge any more details than that.

Reyes strained his eyes just the same. Vetra had just told him that she’d spotted Sloane Kelly among the crowd, an inseparable notebook in her hand, so he wanted to confirm that for himself. Apparently, Kelly had been taking notes like crazy, undoubtedly planning her review for tomorrow’s issue of The Times. Her say-so could make or break any show, so all the theaters trembled before her acerbic pen. Whether she was truly here or not, he couldn’t tell. Unfortunate.

He pulled back and took a deep breath. Just to occupy his hands, he smoothed out his red suit, adjusted his outrageous shirt with golden stripes and put his equally gaudy golden top hat at an angle. He was sweating buckets. If he wrung his outfit now he could probably turn the stage into a swimming pool. Hopefully the cologne he used would generously mask the stench or else people in the first row ran the risk of fainting.

“Don’t be nervous.” Keema’s warm voice sounded in his ear. Startled, he almost dropped his cane. “Everything will be okay.”

“I’m not nervous.” He turned around to face her, trying to cover his true feelings with a frown. In vain.

“Mhm…” she hummed, the all-knowing smirk on her deformed face.

It honestly surprised Reyes how competent and intelligent Keema turned out to be. Almost from the get-go they established a good rapport and a month later she pretty much became his second-in-command. She certainly didn’t shy away from teasing him without mercy. Reyes might have even called her a friend if he believed in such things. However, that didn’t change the fact that Keema could be truly infuriating, especially when those cat-like eyes took him under scrutiny, seemingly seeing it all and piercing into his soul right through the walls of deception he had erected.

“Everyone worked really hard. If everything goes even half as well as during the rehearsals, we’ll be the talk of the city.”

“That’s the plan.” Reyes licked his lips. The inside of his mouth felt like the middle of the Sahara Desert. If he went out there and was able to speak, let alone sing, that would be quite a feat.

_Holy shit. It’s really happening._

The show. Everything he ever wanted. In five minutes he’d need to take the stage and entertain the crowd. Up until this moment everything felt like a fantasy. But now all was real, very real. Too real.

_Holy fuck_.

What was he even doing? He must have completely lost his mind. So many things could go disastrously wrong. This could be the beginning of the end. Last desperate hurrah of Reyes Vidal, a pathetic failure with delusions of grandeur.

He could hardly breathe, his chest constricted painfully. He had to fight the overwhelming urge to bite his nails. Preferably up to the bone.

Keema conjured a glass half-filled with water from somewhere and shoved it into his shaking hands. Gratefully, he drank everything in one gulp.

“They’re gonna love you.” She took the empty glass from him and squeezed his shoulder. There wasn’t even a trace of doubt in her comforting smile.

“They better,” Reyes mumbled, barely audible. But the determination once again ignited his heart, stronger than any anxiety. It was too late to back off now. Giving up wasn’t in his nature anyway. “Failure is not an option.”

Keema grinned, nodding sagely.

 

* * *

 

“You’re fidgeting like a six-year-old.” Sara laughed, nudging him playfully in the ribs.

“Can’t help it, I’m excited!” Scott beamed at her, unashamed, his gaze once again drawn back to the stage, even though nothing was happening there yet.

The clothes they had borrowed from their servants didn’t make for the most comfortable fit, but they allowed the twins the freedom that came from blending in with the crowd. It was so thrilling to be among ordinary people, waiting for the show that made Ryder senior scoff in contempt. Scott was pretty much bouncing in his seat and Sara, although feeling the need to chastise him like any self-respecting older sister would – even if older only by a minute – couldn’t contain the smile spreading across her face. Everyone inside the theater felt the same sweet apprehension, the lightning of anticipation electrifying them before the clap of thunder finally came. Tension was running high, palpable in the air, pulsing in the hushed conversations.

Any minute now…

All the lights went out. A few faint-hearted people in the audience gasped in fear and a hum of whispers rose from every corner. Sara clenched her hand on Scott’s knee while he simply leaned forward to be as close to the stage as possible. Not that hard when you were sitting in the front row.

“ _Woh-oh-oh-ah_!” sounded from the absolute darkness. The melodic howl was followed by a choir of feet stomping in unison, the rhythm so strong that the whole building seemed to be shaking in its foundation.

“ _Woh-oh-oh-ah_!” The howl and the stomping again. Scott felt them both reverberating in his bones, his skin erupting in goosebumps.

A single spotlight shone on the stage. It’s dimmed light revealed a man in a golden top hat and red jacket, leaning on a cane. A true power stance if Scott had ever seen one. The man stood there motionless, his face obscured by the shadows.

“ _Ladies_ _and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for_ ,” he sang, the line followed by another ‘ _woh-oh-oh-ah_!’ and more wild stomping. His words bore a slight accent, his voice deep and rich, booming with power and charisma. “ _Been searching in the dark, your sweat soaking through the floor_.”

“ _Woh-oh-oh-ah_!”

“ _And buried in your bones there’s an ache you can’t ignore_.” The emcee slid two fingers along the rim of his top hat, the gesture teasing, titillating, playful. Scott could hear a smile in his voice, the face still concealed in the dark. The singer kicked his cane lazily and twirled it as the next lines followed. “ _Taking your breath, stealing your mind, and all that was real is left behind_ …”

The spotlight erupted with stronger light finally unveiling the man’s face. Handsome, lean, brown and with golden eyes sparkling with so much inner light that it could power up the whole neighborhood. Scott forgot how to breathe, completely enchanted.

The man started marching around the stage in tune to the loud stomps, the solitary spotlight following him dutifully. His every gesture, every step vibrated with energy and confidence.

“ _Don’t fight it, it’s coming for you, running at ya. It’s only this moment, don’t care what comes after_.” He pointed his cane to the right and pale lights flooded the right side of the stage. “ _Your fever dream, can’t you see it getting closer._ ” He pointed to the left and the other side became illuminated as well. “ _Just surrender ‘cause you feel the feeling taking over_!” All the lights went on.

The music sped up and so did the man, his voice rising in volume to overcome the commotion happening in around the stage.

“ _It’s fire, it’s freedom, it’s flooding open! It’s a preacher in the pulpit and you’ll find devotion! There’s something breaking at the brick of every wall it’s holding_.” The man stood in the center again, his arms spread out fully, the brightest smile on his face. “ _All that you know, so tell me, do you wanna go_?”

The lights dimmed for a second only to explode again, accompanied by a flash of fireworks and pillars of fire as fire-eaters practiced their craft. The scene was full now, a whole ensemble of outlandishly dressed freaks, dancing, bending their bodies, jumping to the ceiling on a trampoline, throwing knives, juggling open bottles full of champagne without spilling a drop, taming wild beasts. Too many things happening at the same time to see and comprehend everything, too many wonders dazzling the senses. Scott watched, his mouth open in awe, as the emcee dashed from one stunt to the other, presenting the cast. The cast who sang in perfect harmony, not missing a beat.

“ _Where it’s covered in all the colored lights, where the runaways are running the night, impossible comes true, it’s taking over you… Oh, this is the greatest show!_ ”

The emcee jumped up on horseback, right behind a dwarf holding the reins, and made the horse dash madly around the stage right in front of the first row. They were so close that Scott could catch a whiff of the animal coupled with a very nice brand of cologne. His stomach did a flip, a bittersweet sensation, an emotional punch to the gut.

“ _We light it up, we won’t come down and the sun can’t stop us now! Watching it come true, it’s taking over you… Oh, this is the greatest show!_ ”

The man jumped off the horse and ran back to center stage, all the performers spreading out to give him space. Big, cheeky smile on his face, he took the hat off and slowly turned around, his eyes sliding across the delighted spectators.

“ _It’s everything you ever want, it’s everything you ever need, and it’s here right in front of you, this is where you wanna be_ ,” he sang, the rest of the cast repeating the last line. “ _It’s everything you ever want, it’s everything you ever need, and it’s here right in front of you, this is where you wanna be, this is where you wanna be…”_

The music swelled, the performers dancing all around the emcee. The song was reaching its climax, the notes loud and resplendent, rumbling in Scott’s ears. The controlled chaos onstage sorted itself out when all the freaks moved to stand behind the master of ceremonies. All of them, as if one single organism, sang the final line together, the words punctuated by explosions of light and fireworks.

“ _Oh, this is the greatest show_!”

There was no place for silence, not in this theater. The moment the music and commotion faded, the audience cheered and clapped, the joyous emanations of a satisfied crowd. Scott was among those who whooped the loudest, his applause incessant until his hands hurt too much to ignore.

“Promising start!” Sara whispered. He looked at her briefly, nodding, but couldn’t spare her much attention. He was focusing fully on the showman himself, on the perfect smile and those golden eyes alit like stars.

The emcee ran a few steps forward, drawing the attention to himself and away from the rest of the cast that were slowly retreating behind the curtains. He bowed down, tipping his hat at a few young ladies in the front row. As if that wasn’t enough, he winked at them, causing a lot of excited giggling. Scott wished that he was the object of such innocuous innuendos. Or maybe not. It would be bad if he passed out.  

“Ladies and gentleman,” started the man, his accent more prominent now that he was speaking and not singing. “Welcome to Vidal’s House of Wonders! My name is Reyes Vidal and it’s my utmost pleasure and a privilege to be your host here tonight in the greatest show in the world!”

More hooting and whistling from the enthusiastic audience. Scott clapped too, although his thoughts were somewhere else. With the man’s surname to be exact. It wasn’t a coincidence that the emcee and the show itself shared the name. Was it a family business or did the handsome owner of the red suit own the whole theater as well? Scott was intrigued, even more than he was before.

“Leave your worries at the door. In here, life is beautiful. And spectacular. Everything’s possible! Let me and my astounding colleagues give you a time you will never forget. Enjoy the show!” Vidal snapped his fingers and all the lights went out again. He snapped them once more and the music boomed anew.

Scott watched, mesmerized. The colorful pageant of freaks stepping onto the stage in turns, broken only by short intervals from the emcee keeping the emotions running high between the stunts. In the streets these people were mocked and derided, but here… Here they were the kings and queens of the night. The frightening lion-woman with the voice of an angel, the man who could bend every bone in his body, the scarred sharpshooter who aimed two pistols at an overweight dwarf strapped to a spinning wheel and didn’t graze him even once, a pair of siblings, both easily reaching seven feet tall, doing amazing acrobatic stunts above the stage, and many more, each performance better than the previous one. All of the freaks proud and unashamed of who they were. And among them, one of them rather than an outsider, the emcee with the golden eyes.

Scott wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling but he was feeling a lot.

Time flew by imperceptibly. Almost two hours of the show passed like ten minutes. But it wasn’t the end yet, the best was saved for last.

The lights went out. Just like at the beginning, a lonely dimmed spotlight shone at the center revealing the emcee, his features obscured by the shadows. Slow but intense music, with chimes sounding at regular intervals, was building the perfect tension.

“ _You stumble through your days, got your head hung low, your sky’s a shade of grey_ ,” Vidal sang to the auditorium. And yet Scott felt as if he was singing directly to him. “ _Like a zombie in a maze, you’re asleep inside but you can shake awake_!” The spotlight flashed, bathing Vidal in a blazing light. The music picked up and a few people hidden in the darkness surrounding the stage snapped their fingers to the rhythm. “ _’Cause you’re just a dead man walkin’, thinkin’ that’s your only option but you can flip the switch and brighten up your darkest day. Sun is up and the color’s blinding. Take a world and redefine it. Leave behind your narrow mind, you’ll never be the same._ ”

Scott felt his mouth getting dry.

Vidal raised his hands, staring up, the pale blue light turning him almost into a prophet preaching to his enchanted disciples.

“ _Come alive, come alive! Go and light your light, let it burn so bright. Reachin’ up to the sky and it’s open wide, you’re electrified_.”

The emcee lowered his arms and walked around the stage, every step powerful, every note dripping with charisma. He wasn’t as much singing as he was baring a piece of his soul, sharing the secret he cradled close to his chest, something he believed without reservation to be true. And Scott responded to that, his heart thudding like a drum, another instrument in this symphony that broke the chains of dull existence.

“ _And the world becomes a fantasy, and you’re more than you could ever be ‘cause you’re dreaming with your eyes wide open. And you know you can’t go back again to the world that you were living in ‘cause you’re dreaming with your eyes wide open. So, come alive!_ ”

A few of the performers ran to the stage, but Vidal didn’t seem to notice. His attention was on the audience, as he addressed each and every one of them. His gaze crossed briefly with Scott’s. It felt like a brand, marking him forever and scorching his soul.

“ _I see it in your eyes. You believe that lie that you need to hide your face. Afraid to step outside. So you lock the door but don’t you stay that way!_ ”

“ _No more living in those shadows_ ,” the lion-woman sang, hooking her arm with Vidal’s. “ _You and me, we know how that goes_.”

“ _’Cause once you see it_ ,”—the contortionist attached himself to the emcee from the other side—“ _oh you’ll never, never be the same!_ ”

“ _A little bit of lightnin’ strikin’ bottled up to keep on shinin’_ ,” sang both performers, with Vidal joining them on the last part. “ _You can prove there’s more to you_.”

And then the emcee sang alone.

“ _You cannot be afraid!_ ”

That was the cue for all the rest. Everyone, the whole ensemble, flooded the stage, the song on their lips.

“ _Come alive, come alive! Go and light your light, let it burn so bright. Reachin’ up to the sky and it’s open wide, you’re electrified_.”

Vidal didn’t join them this time. The performers sang, danced, a perfect choreography, while the master of the house ran between them, joining in on the fun: catching the lioness’ hand and twirling around with her, throwing his hat at the acrobat only to have it returned from near the ceiling, being tossed over a bent contortionist by a dainty young woman, gliding on his knees across the stage as the other acrobat did a flip over him. His smile and ardor infected the audience.  

“ _And the world becomes a fantasy, and you’re more than you could ever be ‘cause you’re dreaming with your eyes wide open! And we know we can’t go back again to the world that we were living in ‘cause we’re dreaming with our eyes wide open. So, come alive!_ ”

“ _Come one! Come all! Come in! Come on_!” the performers called out to everyone in the audience.

“ _To anyone who’s bursting with a dream!_ ” chimed in the acrobat, having landed perfectly on her sister’s shoulders.

“ _Come one! Come all! You hear the call_!”

Vidal ran to the front of the group again and sang, directly into Scott’s heart.

“ _To anyone who’s searching for a way to break free_!”

“ _Break free, break free_ …” echoed the voices, the music swelling, the crescendo hitting them like a crushing wave. And then all the insanity happened.

“ _And the world becomes a fantasy, and you’re more than you could ever be ‘cause you’re dreaming with your eyes wide open! And we know we can’t go back again to the world that we were living in ‘cause we’re dreaming with our eyes wide open._ ”

The laughter, the confetti, the glitter, the fireworks, the dancing – Scott didn’t know where to look, completely dazed. Surely it was all rehearsed, it had to be, no other option, but the performance seemed so frantic, boiling with energy and vibrating with pure joy, that he wasn’t so sure anymore. The artists meant every word, they lived it, breathed it in. And Vidal at the front, clapping his hands, giving two hundred percent of himself, the mad king on the throne of positive insanity, the one who sang the loudest, the volcano of energy, the unrestrained force of nature.

“ _And the world becomes a fantasy, and we’re more than we could ever be ‘cause we’re dreaming with our eyes wide open! And we know we can’t go back again to the world that we were living in ‘cause we’re dreaming with our eyes wide open._ ”

“ _‘Cause we’re dreaming with our eyes wide open. So, come alive! Come alive!”_

The song was over, the show was over, the performers waiting there on the stage as the music faded. The audience was ecstatic, drunk on wonder, going wild as Vidal and all the rest bowed before them over and over again, big smiles on their tired faces.

Sara clapped and laughed so hard that she was balancing dangerously at the edge of her seat, just an inch from falling off.

Scott didn’t move a muscle. He just stared, frozen, paralyzed, in awe. His eyes not trailing away from Vidal, wanting to burn his image into his retina. His head felt light, the flow of blood pulsing in his ears so loudly that he hardly heard what was happening around him. Only when the crowd began to disperse and the performers disappeared behind the curtain did he register the pat on his shoulder, one that betrayed impatience.

“Scott! Come on! I don’t want to sit here till morning,” Sara said, already on her feet.

“Sara…” Scott looked up at her, his pupils widened, his mind blown away. “You know how some people say that they can pinpoint a moment in which their whole life has changed? I think it just happened to me.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes.

“The show was good but not _that_ good, Scotty.”

“I need to see it again tomorrow.”

She stared at him, finally realizing that he wasn’t messing with her.

“Seriously?”

Scott nodded.

“I have to.”

“Why?”

Why? Scott didn’t know. How could he possibly try to describe all the colors that he was seeing for the first time? How suddenly it was easier to breathe? How weightless his heart had become, swirling with hope? How much he wanted to gaze into those golden eyes again?   

“I just have to.”

Sara sighed, exasperated but without any true bite behind her words.

“Fine. Go if you feel like it. But alone. I have other plans.”

“Sure.”

Sara shook her head and didn’t say anything else. She just extended her arm expectantly. Scott stood up, hooked his arm with hers half-heartedly. They moved towards the exit, two more people among the sea of smiles who talked animatedly about the show.

Outside, Scott took a breath of fresh air into his lungs. It did little to clear his thoughts, as scattered as the confetti on the stage. If Sara hadn’t pulled him down the street he’d probably just have stood there and done nothing, shaken to his very core.

“The night is warm and pleasant, we can walk home,” she decided. Scott didn’t voice any objections. What he failed to notice was that her remark was a prompt to start a conversation. He remained silent, lost in his own mind.

“You know…” she tried again after a while, undeterred. “I feel so bad for all those freaks from the show…”

Scott snapped to attention.

“I don’t think they need your sympathy, Sara,” he said, more coldly than he intended.

“But it must be so hard for them. Like that woman with the deformed head or the plump dwarf… People just kept laughing at them.”

“I think that for the first time in their lives people were laughing with them and not at them,” Scott said without any doubts in his voice. So convinced he sounded that Sara gave him a curious look, actually considering it.

“Maybe… maybe you’re right.”

“I am. You can’t even imagine how freeing, how cathartic that is.”

Sara raised an eyebrow at him, clearly skeptical.

“And you can? Since when have you become an expert on freaks?”

“Sara, I am one of them.” He lifted his hand. As it flashed purple, a bottle raised from the gutter and levitated towards them. “I am one of the freaks.”

“Stop that!” She swatted his hand, casting furtive glances all around to see if anyone might have seen that. The bottle tumbled helplessly into a puddle. “You can’t do that in public!”

Scott gave her a sad smile and looked away. Sara blinked. Ashamed, she looked away as well. They walked home in heavy silence.

 

* * *

 

The curtain had fallen, the audience was going back home. The show had ended.

Backstage, Reyes found himself face to face with the Collective, all giddy, all anxious, all staring at him expectantly. A semi-circle of people waiting for the verdict of their boss.

What Reyes was, was dehydrated, exhausted and in a desperate need of a bath to wash away the sweat and get the glitter out of his hair. But none of that mattered. The huge grin that had appeared on his face the moment the crowd started cheering didn’t falter even a little.

So this was how it felt to be successful. To be admired. To be rich.

Yeah, Reyes liked it. Liked it a lot.

“You were all amazing, I’m proud,” he said, knowing how important it was to keep the morale of the team high. “Tonight, drinks are on me! Let’s go and get smashed!”

The answer was an ecstatic uproar. Everybody was whooping and screaming, the mood excellent all around the venue. Reyes felt Crux’s hands wrap around him and suddenly he was in the air, slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Stunned at first, he relaxed eventually and joined in on the laughter at how ridiculous it all was.

The Collective walked out of the theater, heads held high, excitement in every gesture. This night was a triumph, one of many to come. But it was the first one, the most important one, the special one. Tonight, they had every right to celebrate. Reyes smirked, thinking that Umi would be overjoyed, hosting a rowdy mob of performers in her bar.

In the thinning crowd, he caught a brief glimpse of Sloane Kelly. She lingered by a lamppost, taking advantage of the light it emanated. She scribbled something furiously in her notebook, a look of disgusted outrage on her face.

That didn’t bode well. But for now Reyes could think of nothing else but the pint of beer he undeniably deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first song: [The Greatest Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IhOCFuCdjw/)  
> The second song: [Come Alive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BURBlSYPmBU)


	4. A Million Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay, I was busy with original stuff. Well, I still am. But as soon as I'm done, I'm gonna get back to fics. I love this story far too much to abandon it.

“So, what did she write?” asked Crux, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a kid on Christmas morning. She was taking a gander over Reyes’ shoulder and if she squeezed the back of his chair any harder she’d turn it into sawdust.

Reyes groaned inwardly, massaging his temple. Still hungover after yesterday’s celebrations, he knew he could use a few more hours of sleep to get rid of his pulsing headache. A woodpecker seemed to have nested right in the middle of his skull and was joyously knocking on his eyeballs from within.

_Note to self_ , he thought. _Never mix whiskey, beer and cheap moonshine_.

No rest for the wicked though, not here. He’d been dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour by fervent masses. The whole Collective was crowding his desk now, over thirty people somehow squeezed snugly into his office, all of them waiting with bated breath for the verdict. Reading apparently wasn’t a widespread talent here. Or maybe they simply wanted him to see the news first.

Reyes sighed and blinked a few times, focusing his bleary eyes on the morning newspaper, fresh from the press. The Times, the entertainment column where Sloane Kelly reigned with her sharp pen over the minds and taste of New Yorkers.  

“The Charlatan and His Uninspired Humbug,” Reyes read out the headline. “Ouch.”

“What a wretched hag!” Keema balled her hands into fists, ready to throw punches. All the others voiced their indignation in a similar fashion.

Reyes scanned the text, ignoring the commotion. It died down as soon as he opened his mouth to read the juiciest bit.

“The House of Wonders does not live up to its name, being a soulless shell of a show that desperately tries to mask the emptiness with glitter and outrageous costumes worn by a disgraceful band of circus rejects. Reyes Vidal is nothing but a charlatan. Avoid him at all costs.”

This time the outrage was far more vocal and aggressive.

“Boss, you want me to shoot her?” asked Bob the Sniper. “She won’t even know what hit her.”

“Tempting, but no.”

The corner of Reyes’ mouth curved into a smile. He knew he should be more worried, probably pulling out his hair and filing for bankruptcy. So many plays and venues went under because of Kelly’s critiques. However… What most people would treat as a nail in a coffin, Reyes saw as a stepping ladder. Just a matter of perspective. If Sloane Kelly thought that he’d roll over and die she was in for a big surprise. Reyes had been knocked down too many times in his life to just give up without a fight.

“The Charlatan… I like it,” he mused under his breath, the gears in his head whirring at full speed. Getting an idea, he grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Kian.”

The contortionist snapped to attention, almost giving him a proper salute. Reyes handed him the newspaper. “Go and print that review in all the major newspapers. And add the information that everyone who brings it with them gets a fifty percent discount on the ticket.”

Kian gawked at him, but when the first shock passed, he nodded curtly and ran off to fulfill the errand.

Reyes clapped his hands and stood up invigorated, his gaze sliding across the people who, albeit confused and unsure, were staring at him with hope. He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. It wasn’t crushing him. Under it, he felt uplifted.

“Okay, people,” he said. “We have a theater to run. Let’s make sure that tonight’s show goes down in history as the best piece of entertainment ever. You’re all amazing and Sloane Kelly can choke on her pen. We’ll show her what we’re really worth and no third-grade has-been critic can ever slow us down!”

A choir of excited hoots told him that his little pep talk had managed to rekindle their zeal. Perfect. Words came easy. He’d always been good with those.

Reyes watched the Collective leave, giving out smiles and encouraging pats on the back but his mind was occupied. His brain was swelling with possibilities and improvements he could introduce. Seemed like spite and wanting to prove someone wrong was the most stimulating motivator for his creativity.

“Clever move. With the newspapers. Will generate a lot of buzz. No matter what they say, I suppose, as long as they spell your name right.”

Reyes looked to the side, finding Keema leaning against the wall with her deformed hands crossed over her chest. The woman was smiling, a quizzical sphinxlike expression on her feline features.

“This is just the beginning,” Reyes replied and moved towards the door. Keema followed him down the corridor, hard on his heels. “We need publicity to draw people in. The more the better; word of mouth is our best ally. Critics may huff and puff but it’s the audience and their wallets that count.”

“True enough.”

The performers and technical crew were all over the theater, practicing their gigs or checking if everything was in order. The building felt like a hive, buzzing with manic activity. And Reyes was the queen bee here, making sure that everything ran smoothly. He’d never expected to enjoy the sight and the noise as much as he did. It was hard work, but the end result was worth it. The moment at the end of the show where everybody clapped and cheered... Just amazing. No one would take that away from him. No one. He’d fight them until his dying breath.

Reyes and Keema walked to the cloakroom where all the costumes were stored. No one was inside and the silence would have felt odd if Reyes’ purposeful steps hadn’t filled it instantly. He marched straight to the rack with his outfit and grabbed the golden top hat. With it in hand, he sat down in front of the mirror and snatched some body paint used by the performers. His hand was steady as he started calligraphing the letters.

“What are you doing?” Keema asked, observing him with a keen eye.

“When someone calls you names to bring you down, you need to reclaim the slurs. Then you can stand on your own and hold your head high. They no longer have power over you.”

Reyes showed her the top hat. Now with added black letters forming ‘The Charlatan’ over the rim.

Keema laughed. “Now, this will definitely be an interesting show.”

“It will.” Reyes grinned. “I have some ideas.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, Mr. Charlatan.”

 

* * *

 

Once again in the stands, Scott felt a sense of familiarity, comforting like a favorite blanket. Despite that, his body still vibrated with excitement. The chatter full of anticipation, the empty stage soon to be filled with wonders, the knowledge that the man with the golden eyes was somewhere out there behind the curtain. All these feelings were even more prominent now that he had come here by himself. Sara said she preferred to go to the opera with Jaal. Somehow Scott doubted she’d pay attention to even one line of the arias.

Scott might have come alone, but the place was filled with people to the point of bursting. All the seats were taken but just as many spectators were standing behind the chairs or squatting on the stairs. When Scott read the extremely unfavorable review in the paper, his blood had boiled with anger while his throat clenched with worry. It couldn’t be the end of Vidal’s show, it simply couldn’t. Scott had underestimated him, though. The whole city was talking about the Charlatan inviting the audience to the show for half the price. The room was ripe with curiosity and excitement.

Scott couldn’t wait, his leg bouncing impatiently. Since stepping into the theater the day before, some fire had begun to smolder within him, an itch only the limelight and glitter could scratch. Among the world of pretend he could taste freedom on his tongue. It was intoxicating. Intoxicating just like those unattainable golden eyes, so alive. Scott couldn’t sleep that night, his thoughts completely conquered by hopes and dreams he’d never let himself entertain before. Dreams he hadn’t even realized could exist.

The lights went out. Scott held his breath, tense like a wrung spring. The silence was absolute, the only noise the blood pounding in his ears.

The show began.

The second time felt as magical as the first. Maybe even more because Scott knew what to expect. The music, the performance, the singing, and of course Reyes Vidal himself being the heart and soul of the whole endeavor. His voice was doing things to Scott, creeping under his skin, seeping through his bones, pulling at all the strings of his heart. When Vidal was on stage, Scott could only see him and him alone. The handsome face, the top hat with the Charlatan’s name, the red suit flattering his posture. Every time he returned backstage, Scott longed to see him again. It was foolish, he knew full well, the ridiculous mess of thoughts and emotions he experienced. How could he sort them out? An impossible feat, akin to trying to separate ash from flour.

Whatever he felt, he felt it strongly, achingly, madly. And he wanted more.

The spectacle proceeded just like the one the night before. It started with the song about it being the greatest show (Scott concurred), followed by Vidal’s introduction (“You are all invited into the house of the Charlatan!”) and then various pieces from the individual performers. Scott loved it, clapping and cheering, the loudest from the ecstatic crowd. Call it empathy or delusion but he could feel the joy emanating from the artists.

There was one change in the repertoire. In the middle of the show, a new spectacle started, an interlude of sorts. Two long sashes unfolded from the ceiling and two acrobats, far too similar not to be blood-related, moved along their lengths in a slow aerial dance. The soothing music made the whole thing relaxing to watch, putting the mind at ease. But as Scott soon concluded, that wasn’t the main attraction, that was just the background.

Reyes Vidal and the lion woman, dressed in an airy blue ballgown, walked onto the stage, hand in hand. Scott’s spirit sank. He dug his fingers into the meat of his hand to deaden the hollow pang in his chest. His stupid heart was even dumber than he thought if the mere sight of Vidal with someone was prompting such a reaction. Scott clenched his jaws, ignoring the sensation. Or trying to, at least.

“ _I close my eyes and I can see the world that’s waiting up for me, that I call my own_.” Vidal’s clear voice seemed to fill all the nooks and crannies of the theater. It certainly managed to do that with Scott’s soul. “ _Through the dark, through the door, through where no one’s been before, but it feels like home._ ”

Scott swallowed hard. Again, he wasn’t sure what it was about the songs that Vidal sang, but the lyrics just pierced right through him. As if the Charlatan sang especially for him, having taken a peek inside his mind.

“ _They can say, they can say it all sounds crazy. They can say, they can say I’ve lost my mind. I don’t care, I don’t care, so call me crazy. We can live in a world that we design._ ”

The music gained momentum as Vidal sang the chorus at the woman. He smiled like a lover sharing his secrets with the one ruling his heart. Scott’s face darkened.

“ _’Cause every night I lie in bed, the brightest colors fill my head, a million dreams are keeping me awake. I think of what the world could be, a vision of the one I see, a million dreams is all it's gonna take. A million dreams for the world we're gonna make_.”

“ _However big, however small, let me be part of it all_ ,” replied the woman, coy, but her voice as strong as ever. The acrobats did their best to enhance the mood but the pair in the center of the stage was magnetic, gathering all the attention. “ _Share your dreams with me. You may be right, you may be wrong, but say that you'll bring me along to the world you see, to the world I close my eyes to see… I close my eyes to see…_ ”

It was time for the grand finale of the song. Vidal and the woman, their voices in perfect harmony, their hands joined, sang at the top of their lungs, a piece of fairytale come to life.

_“Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colors fill my head, a million dreams are keeping me awake. I think of what the world could be, a vision of the one I see, a million dreams is all it's gonna take. A million dreams for the world we're gonna make_. _For the world we’re gonna make…_ ”

They bowed. The audience showed their appreciation loudly. Scott clapped as well but he hardly saw the stage, his gaze clouded. The chorus still played on repeat in his mind, reverberating through his bones. A million dreams awoke, a million hopeless longings for the world he wanted to make.

He felt the need to rattle the bars of the cage he was locked in.

In a haze, he watched the rest of the show unfold. The element of surprise was gone, but that didn’t diminish the appreciation he had for everyone’s hard work. Up until the very end he was entertained, if a little distracted by all the things happening inside his mind and inside his heart.

He barely remembered going back home and slipping inside his bedroom. He couldn’t get the image of Vidal and the woman holding hands together like two lovebirds out of his head. Except in his mind’s eye, it was no longer her holding the Charlatan’s hand.

 

* * *

 

Sitting at the desk in his office, glitter still glued to the flaking make-up on his face, Reyes stared at the heap of money in front of him. The sum perhaps was far from a billion dollars, but his smile certainly was close. Despite – or perhaps because? – of the scathing review, tickets were selling like a dream. For the rest of the week there were hardly any free spots left, and that included even the stairs, a far cry from an enviable way to enjoy the performance.

He was so close to getting everything he wanted, so close! With enough revenue he’d stop renting the theater and buy it instead. He’d renovate and expand the joint, turning it into the most important building in the city. And with money and fame, respect would come as well. The most influential families would beg him to attend their parties and push their daughters into his arms hoping for a lucrative marriage. Not that Reyes particularly wanted a wife, but the attention and maybe the occasional coitus with a fetching young lady – or an open-minded gentleman – would be nice.

A few more weeks like this and he’d become someone sooner than he’d expected. He’d already beaten Sloane Kelly, the tickets sales blatant proof of how little power she had over him. Yes, the victory, and the wealth, truly did feel nice.

_“I think of what the world could be, a vision of the one I see, a million dreams is all it's gonna take,”_ he sang under his nose, shaking his head at himself for being silly. Oh well, maybe a little silly didn’t hurt.

Reyes meticulously gathered all the coins and notes and locked them in a safe. Only he knew the combination, not even Keema was allowed anywhere near it. Trusting people didn’t come easy to him. Living in the streets didn’t exactly encourage you to rely on others.  

Reyes closed the safe and stretched his limbs, feeling the tiredness of a long day catching up with him. Everyone usually went to Umi’s to wind down and celebrate another successful performance, but tonight he gave it a pass. Tonight, a shot of whiskey in his own quarters, while enjoying the silence, felt like an amazing idea.

“Boss!” Crux flung open the door to his office, not bothering with any show of decorum. “Boss…” she wheezed out, struggling to catch her breath.

Reyes narrowed his eyes but decided not to scold her. Whatever brought her here in such a battering ram fashion must have been important. Lessons on good manners could wait.

“What’s going on?”

“They’re… they’re fighting!” she said, distraught.

“Who’s fighting?”

“They!”

“Who?!” Reyes fought the urge to grab her shoulders and give her a solid shake.

“The… the guys! And some awful guys! It’s awful!”

Reyes sighed inwardly. Out of all the people to come to him and deliver the news it had to be Crux. He liked the girl well enough, but there was nothing but draught blowing merrily between her ears.

“Where are they fighting?”

“In the street! Please, boss, come quickly!”

“Okay, okay,” he placated her, reaching deep into his depleting stores of patience. “Lead the way.”

She nodded, accepting the mission solemnly, and ran off, her garish skirt flapping behind her like wings of a parrot. Reyes had to dash to keep up with her. This had truly better be something important or else heads would roll.

Crux brought him outside, a little down the road, about twenty yards from Kralla’s Song. She hadn’t exaggerated – it was really awful. A regular brawl was raging on between the Collective and some shabby-looking men with a bunch of rubbernecks standing in a semicircle and watching the fight. Everyone seemed to be in varying degrees of inebriation, which certainly didn’t help. Hits and insults were being traded freely and without mercy.

“What’s the meaning of this?” He raised his voice, speaking over the din.

The skirmish ground to a halt, everyone turning their eyes to Reyes. Quickly, he surveyed his people – Kian, Bob the Sniper, Vetra, Sid, Keema and a few others – for signs of any injury. Thankfully, no one seemed to be seriously hurt.

“Ah, so it’s the freak master himself,” drawled one of the assailants, probably the leader of the mob. He looked like a typical factory worker whose main entertainment was to get drunk and bully others in his spare time. “Take your zoo, Beaner, and get the fuck out of this country. We don’t want trash like you here!”

A spark of hatred flashed and reared its ugly head in Reyes’ chest, but he was smart enough to rein in the impulse of bashing in the man’s skull. That shithead would never know how close he came to being beaten to a pulp.

“That’s enough, sir. Desist or I will be forced to call the police,” Reyes said, keeping his cool. Outwardly, at least. Inside he was boiling and imagining ten thousand ways to stop that asshole from wasting oxygen.

The man sniggered and spat on the ground.

“Come on, boys,” he said, taking a wobbly step back. He’d definitely had too much to drink, just as had his companions. “We’ll show the Spic his place next time.”

The band retreated to the accompaniment of disrespectful whistles and obscene gestures. Reyes watched them go until they disappeared around the corner. Fuckers. If he could he’d put a bullet between the eyes of every racist prick who even breathed in his direction.  

“Should I shoot them next time, boss?” asked Bob the Sniper, as if reading his mind. Or maybe simply reading the dark expression on his face.

Reyes sighed. Nothing was ever a bed of roses, he knew that better than most.

“Ask me tomorrow and I might say yes,” he muttered, running his hand through his hair. An unseemly amount of glitter got stuck to his skin. Reyes sighed again. Holy crap, he was so tired he was barely standing straight. “Okay, that’s it for today. I’m going to bed. And you all better stay out of trouble.”

The bystanders dispersed first, seeing that the scene was over. The Collective did the same, some less eager than others, and returned to the theater, moving towards their quarters. Most of them, Reyes included, lived there, having no other place to go. He waited until all his employees cleared the street before following them inside.

So exhausted that he was nearly tripping over his own feet, Reyes reached his room. These weren’t chambers worthy of the Charlatan, not by a long stretch. A tiny den with a rickety wardrobe and a rusty sink in the corner only covered the barest of necessities. One day he’d be rich enough to buy a proper villa, but for now it had to do. The only thing he liked about his room was the king-sized bed, far more comfortable than he initially gave it credit for.

Without bothering to take his clothes off, Reyes collapsed onto the mattress, closing his eyes. Bathing needed to wait till morning, he had no energy left. Patting blindly at his side, he tugged at the rim of the duvet and wrapped it around himself. A plus of sleeping alone – he had the whole bed to himself.

One of the very few plusses of sleeping alone.

_Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colors fill my head, a million dreams are keeping me awake._

Reyes opened his eyes and stared unseeing at the cracks in the wall. Maybe there was something else he wanted aside from money and respect.

Reyes scoffed, burying his face in the pillow.

How foolish. He was smarter than that.

Less than a minute later he was fast asleep, his dreams bright and colorful.

 

* * *

 

_Every night I lie in bed, the brightest colors fill my head, a million dreams are keeping me awake._

One hand under his pillow, the other resting on his chest, Scott stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. The clothes he had thrown casually onto the floor levitated around him, propelled by his biotic powers. A scandalous display of an unholy magic, one that would induce Alec Ryder’s fury. Right now, Scott didn’t care.

He couldn’t sleep. The show just wouldn’t leave him alone. The music, the stunts, the energy, the freedom… all this swirling in his head, beckoning him.

That silky voice and those golden eyes… He couldn’t forget, couldn’t move on.

He meant what he had said to Sara. Since the moment he stepped into that theater and seen the performance, his life wasn’t the same anymore. He felt like a different person, a person who could no longer live among the swells and their hypocrisy. He was suffocating, drowning in despair.  

There was another way to live, he could see it now. And he needed at least to try and follow it. If he wouldn’t take that chance he might as well open the window right now and jump to his death, smearing his brains on the pavement.

He made a decision. Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything would change.

Tomorrow…

Tomorrow he’d look straight into those golden eyes and ask to join the show.

Scott swallowed hard, his skin breaking into a sweat.

And speaking of hard…

Gingerly, fighting the feeling of shame and guilt, Scott let his hand slide down to his thigh and then find its way under his sleeping gown. He teased the length of his cock and rubbed his thumb right under the head, his eyes fluttering shut. _Yes_. Stifling a moan, he stroked himself, slow at first but then picking up the pace. He bit on his lower lip, fantasizing about kissing Vidal’s mouth and feeling his hands all over his body.

_I think of what the world could be, a vision of the one I see, a million dreams is all it's gonna take. A million dreams for the world we're gonna make_.

The levitating clothes fell to the floor.

Scott had fallen too. In love. He had fallen badly. And as the climax hit him, the only thing on his mind was a pair of golden eyes.


	5. Go and Light Your Light

Reyes rubbed his damp hair furiously with a towel and flung it onto the backrest of one of the office chairs. After a long, nice bath he felt much better. And approximately two pounds lighter, having scrubbed off all the remnants of paint and glitter that still clung to his body.

He didn’t bother to dress up. A pair of old trousers and a crumpled white shirt he neglected to button up all the way would have to do. He wasn’t meeting anyone important anyway and all the residents of the theater cared very little about proper etiquette.

With a sigh, Reyes sat down at the desk and opened the accounting book. His plan for the morning was simple: go through all their expenses and plan out the budget for the next couple of weeks. Oh joy. However tedious that task was, at least the numbers filled Reyes with unabashed satisfaction. So far, the show was a huge success. If they kept the revenue steady, he’d be able to buy out the theater sooner than he’d anticipated. And then — finally the one true king of the establishment — he’d aim even higher, burying himself in renovations, improvements and refurbishments to further maximize the profits. And then… he’d aim even higher still, getting everything he wanted at last. He’d buy himself a villa with twenty rooms because why not. And he’d become one of the filthy rich snobs with an extended invitation to every banquet in the city. And then nobody would dare to disrespect him ever again.

Things were looking good. Great, even.

Humming under his breath, Reyes picked up a pencil and scribbled in the ledger. A string of encouraging digits dotted the page, the promise of a bright future.

He didn’t get far with his calculations. Five minutes later a knock on the door brutally pulled him out of the arithmetical trance and shattered his concentration. Before he could tell whoever dared to disturb him to piss off, the door opened. Keema slipped inside, not at all sorry.

“Reyes, someone wants to see you,” she announced without delay.

“Who?” he grumbled, not even attempting to hide his irritation.

“A guy.” Keema shrugged her shoulders. “Says that he wants to join the show.”

Reyes rolled his eyes. Just perfect. That was exactly what he needed right now.

“I’m busy.” He indicated the open ledger if by any chance she had missed it. “And we’re not looking for anyone new at the moment. So tell him to get the fuck out of here. Politely.”

Keema said nothing but didn’t leave either. She just stared at him, the thoughtful sheen in her feline eyes making Reyes’ skin crawl.

_Did I fucking stutter?_ he almost spat out but managed to bite his tongue in time. She didn’t deserve that shit, no matter how annoyed he was.

“What?” he asked levelly, keeping his temper in check.

Keema rubbed her chin, still pensive.

“I’m not sure. But… I have a gut feeling about this guy. Just hear him out. Five minutes. Then you can kick him out on the street if you want. I won’t stop you.”

Reyes leaned back in his chair, his eyes trained on Keema, his intertwined hands resting on his stomach. He valued her advice and she had been right more times than he could count. If it were someone else offering the insight he would have dismissed it and gotten back to work that very second. But Keema? She could be onto something. And he couldn’t deny that she had planted a seed of curiosity within him. Who was this mysterious guy, to make such an impression on her?

Hell, what did he have to lose?

“Fine,” he yielded, but not before casting his gaze ceilingward, indulging in his penchant for dramatic gestures. “Bring him in. I can spare five minutes, no more. I’m a busy man.”

“Of course.” Keema smiled. She looked far too smug for Reyes’ liking. She even went as far as to wink at him before stepping out of the room.

This guy had truly better be the eighth wonder of the world or there would be hell to pay.

 

* * *

 

Scott paced to and fro in the corridor, wringing his fingers. With every passing second he felt more and more on edge, all his anxieties threatening to consume him whole. When he’d strutted into the theater, he was so sure of himself, ready to take the world by storm. That bravado was gone now, having evaporated completely as soon as he met the lioness — Keema, as she introduced herself. Talking to her was an unsettling experience, even if she turned out to be a nice person despite her less than conventional appearance. 

After their talk, she disappeared into the bowels of the theater to speak to Reyes Vidal himself. Scott was left with nothing to do but to wait.

He sighed. If his heart was already beating insanely fast, what would happen when he finally found himself face to face with the Charlatan? Instant cardiac arrest. For sure. That is, of course, if Mr. Vidal even wanted to talk to him in the first place.

Wanting to occupy himself and keep his mind off his impending doom, Scott scanned his surroundings. The walls could use a new coat of paint, but the deep burgundy still had its charm, even flaking, as did the faded posters of plays from years ago, some even older than him. Aside from these, the corridor offered little else to gaze upon.  The true heart of the theater was much deeper inside the building, hidden from the unworthy eyes of new applicants. But even here, in this corridor far removed from any real action, he caught glimpses of a few circus freaks going about their business and casting him searching looks as they passed him by. Out of costume they looked oddly… normal, despite their uniqueness that singled them out in society, made them outcasts. Here, they held their heads high, unashamed of who they were.

Scott hoped to be like that one day.

“He’ll see you now.”

He flinched, surprised. He whipped around and gaped at Keema, who smiled, not without a certain dose of affinity.

“Please follow me.”

Scott nodded, too shell-shocked to speak. He swallowed hard and followed the woman down the corridor, taking a few turns along the way. Wiping his sweaty hands against the clothes he had once again borrowed from the butler, he had trouble not slipping into a full-blown panic attack.

_What the hell am I doing?_ he thought to himself as they stopped in front of a green door marked _The Charlatan_.

“Good luck,” Keema mouthed and pressed the handle, opening the office door for him.

Too late to run now. Although Scott really felt like getting the hell out of there as far and as fast as possible.

He gave Keema an awkward smile, thanked her with a nod, and shuffled inside, his legs soft and uncooperative as if made of cotton candy.

Mr. Vidal was there. Reyes Vidal, dressed immodestly, stood up from his desk in a brisk manner, an echo of the energy he radiated on stage. Scott could feel the man’s gaze on him, appraising him, sizing him up. He’d give a limb to know what the man’s impression of him was.

What Scott thought, he’d rather die than put out in the open. From up close those golden eyes, filled with intelligence and wit, seemed even more magnetic. Alluring, just like the curve of his smiling lips and streaks of damp black hair, disheveled without a care. Scott eyes dropped to the man’s neck and the open shirt displaying just enough of his chest to almost make Scott whimper. Feeling his cheeks burning, he forced himself to get a grip and take his mind out of the gutter. He refused to turn into a pathetic, slobbering mess in front of this incredible man. No.

Faking confidence of which he had none, he stepped closer to the Charlatan and extended his hand. Despite his best efforts, it trembled, but hopefully the master of the house wouldn’t notice. So close to this man Scott felt starstruck. And lovestruck. And ‘holy shit I’m gonna have a heart attack’ struck.

“Mr. Vidal. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for agreeing to spare me some of your time.”

Wow. He didn’t even stutter, even though his mouth was drier than the Mojave Desert in the summer. Amazing. Maybe he wouldn’t end up as a complete laughing stock after all.

“Please. Call me Reyes.” He shook his hand firmly. The touch was electric, sending Scott’s mind into overload. When Reyes took the hand away its solid warmth was solely missed. “Well…” He leaned against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. “My assistant told me that you’re looking for employment here, Mr…?”

“Scott,” he supplied when the pause stretched on. “Just Scott.” The last thing he needed was to give out his real surname. “And yes. I’d like to be a part of the show.”

“Okay, _just_ Scott.” Reyes offered him a crooked smile. “I’ll be honest with you. At this moment we’re not looking for anyone.”

Scott’s heart broke in half. His shoulders slouched in defeat. His mighty adventure had ended before it even began. How underwhelming.

“However,” Reyes spoke again, his tone sympathetic. Scott snapped to attention at once, hope rekindled. “I’m not a man who passes up on an opportunity when it presents itself. So, Scott, this is your chance. Dazzle me right here and now and we’ll work something out.”

Scott beamed, nervous, and licked his parched lips. Well, now or never. There wouldn’t be a better opportunity to show his powers or a better person to show them to. All now depended on Reyes’ verdict.

Scott was ready.

 

* * *

 

Reyes waited, his eyebrow quirked, as he observed the man in front of him. He looked so young, in his early twenties. And seemed familiar too. Had he seen him in the audience before? Perhaps. It wasn’t unusual for him to notice someone beautiful in the stands. And the boy was beautiful, no way around it. Regular, manly features, big blue eyes, well-toned body. Someone Reyes wouldn’t kick out of his bed. Another interesting thing about Scott was that he wore servant’s clothing but spoke and behaved like someone from a higher social stratum. A bored and rebellious son of some well-off doctor or lawyer? Seemed likely.

Reyes was intrigued. But then, if Scott had nothing more to present than his pretty face… the parting of ways was inevitable. Business was business. Shame.

Maybe they could pursue a relationship on a personal level? Something to consider. If, of course, the boy didn’t mind fooling around with men.

Reyes slapped himself mentally. Focus. It was a job interview first and foremost, not a visit in a brothel.

Scott lifted his hand, the nerves clearly eating him alive. Reyes waited, not rushing him. A purplish aura enveloped Scott’s whole body, emanating from his skin. Reyes blinked, surprised. That was an impressive display of… light. But was it enough for the show? Reyes considered it, deep in thought.

So deep in thought that it took him a second to realize that the floor was escaping from under his feet. He looked down in shock, now floating a yard above the ground. He cried out, trying to clutch onto something desperately. Too late—he had been lifted all the way up to the ceiling. Stunned, he gawked at Scott, still alit with purple and smiling at him, not mischievous or smug but sheepish and uncertain.

Reyes, the one with a silver tongue, always able to charm and smooth talk himself out of every situation, was at a complete loss for words. He’d never seen anything like this in his entire life. It wasn’t a trick, it was the real deal. Or if it _was_ a trick, then he certainly had to pass his title of the Charlatan to a much worthier contender.

Could Scott be a biotic? Reyes had heard about them but never met one. Bit of exoticism, pint of danger, whiff of a scandal, people would love it.

As for the demonstration, Reyes thought that that was it, the ability to lift someone in the air impressive enough. But the display of magic was far from over. Scott jumped up and floated up to him. Even his eyes now reflected that purplish energy. Reyes realized that he should be quaking in his boots from fear. Somehow, he wasn’t. Maybe he was too taken aback to be scared, the experience far out of this world. Or maybe Scott’s smile had the uncanny ability to put him at ease no matter what.

Their eyes on the same level now, Scott offered him both of his hands. Hesitantly, Reyes grabbed them, holding onto them like to a lifeline. They felt warmer than before, as if heated up by the purple light.

Slowly, Scott brought himself and Reyes down. Not all the way to the floor though, both stopping more or less in the middle of the room.

Scott closed his eyes, concentrating. Reyes felt the energy gathering in the man’s body, pulsing and tingling on his skin, their touch electric.

At once, the whole office came alive. Everything started to float. The books, the chairs, the towel, even the heavy desk. The objects were all around them – left, right, up, down – slowly twirling, pushed around by invisible energy. Scott’s eyes snapped open. Reyes felt himself and Scott spin around as well, two people staring deeply into each other’s eyes and locked in a bubble of strangeness where the laws of gravity lost their hold on the world. 

It was the most bizarre experience of Reyes’ life. And the most amazing, taking his breath away. He felt as if he was dreaming, half expecting to sit up on his lonely bed, tangled in sheets, and chalk it all up to a whiskey-induced fantasy.

Scott’s hands in his felt so real though. Just like everything here. He nudged one of the floating books with his foot. It seemed authentic enough, material and solid. It couldn’t be an illusion. Everything was real. Biotic powers at their finest.  

Scott smiled, more relaxed now, and closed his eyes again. Slowly, the items began their descent. First the furniture, then smaller objects like books, all falling into their rightful place. All except the towel which Scott let flop on top of Reyes’ head playfully. It wasn’t an accident, Reyes saw the impish glint in the man’s eyes when he opened them again. If he hadn’t known better he might have seen it as a weird attempt at flirting. What _wasn’t_ weird here, though?

Finally, Scott let them both touch the ground. The floor once again under his feet, Reyes let go of Scott’s hands and pulled the towel off his head, casting it aside. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Scott. Off this beautiful man who’d shown him things he’d never dreamed to see. A true miracle, a talent unlike any other. Reyes was blown away.

The silence stretched between them, Reyes just staring and doing nothing more.

Scott cleared his throat, anxiousness dimming those bright blue eyes.

“So… um...” He tugged at the seams of his jacket. “What do you think?”

Reyes could kiss him right there and then.

“That was… amazing,” he said breathlessly. No words could properly convey what he felt, how absolutely in awe he was. With a performer like this, his profits could triple. But it wasn’t just the prospect of money. If it were, everything would have been easier. Reyes was shaken to his very core. “Truly spectacular.”

Scott’s face brightened, the sun emerging from behind the clouds of self-consciousness. Reyes felt something stir in his chest, something he squashed before it took shape or grew to deserve a name.

“Really?” the boy asked, hopeful.

“Really.” Reyes exhaled, gradually getting back his bearings. Gradually. You cannot rebound from a life-changing encounter just like that. “How did you do it? You’re a biotic, right?”

“I…” Scott hesitated. Reyes looked at him expectantly, encouragingly. Scott licked his lips and went on, things he certainly didn’t have the opportunity to share often. “Yes… I think so. I’m not entirely sure. I’ve had this power since I was born. But my father insisted that I should never use it, that I should pretend to be normal or people would hate and shun me. That my power was disgraceful.” His voice grew quieter the longer he spoke, ending almost as a whisper. His gaze dropped to his hands. Hands that were capable of so much and now shook from all the emotions boiling within him. Reyes felt sorry for him.

“You won’t find _normal_ here, I can promise you that,” Reyes said to cheer him up. “There’s nothing more boring and soul-crushing than normalcy. No one ever achieved anything by being just like everyone else.” Reyes put his hand on Scott’s shoulder and smiled. “Here, you don’t have to pretend, you don’t have to hide. Show your powers, flaunt them, treat them like the most precious gifts. You’ll fit right in.”

Scott blinked.

“So that means…?”

“Of course! How can you have any doubts? You’re hired!” Reyes was so excited that he thought he might start to float on his own, without any magical help. “Come with me now, we need to find you the right costume.”


	6. This Is Me

Giddy and frankly shell-shocked, Scott followed Reyes Vidal into the depths of the theater. The Charlatan, clearly bursting with excitement, made strides so large that Scott had to jog after him to keep up.

A big goofy smile just couldn’t leave Scott’s face. At this point it probably resembled a nervous spasm as he wasn’t entirely sure what his emotions were doing. Frolicking all over the place, surely. Surprise, excitement, apprehension, all rolled into one big ball of what the fuck. He could hardly believe that this was happening, that it wasn’t just a dream. Reyes Vidal – _the_ Reyes Vidal – not only had been floored by his talent but also offered him a place in the circus. For real. Scott would be a part of the show, another performer singing and dancing on the stage among the rain of glitter.

Dad would ascend to a different plane of existence and haunt him forever if he as much as heard about it.

Scott decided not to think about it. He didn’t think at all, far too fired up to care about anything outside of the theater.

Keema joined them on the way. As Reyes left the office with Scott in tow, she waited in the corridor, casually leaning against the wall. Scott would bet his socks that she was eavesdropping. He didn’t hold it against her. Hell, he totally understood this type of curiosity.

“You must be pretty special,” she said, an enigmatic smile curving her lips. Scott tried not to stare at her deformed face but that was impossible. Up close and without the stage makeup she seemed even weirder, even more inhuman. She didn’t seem bothered by his gawking. “Reyes didn’t plan on hiring anyone else.”

Before Scott could reply, Reyes looked over his shoulder and boomed, “Oh, he’s special, all right! People will absolutely love him, trust me.”

Scott felt his cheeks burning. Special… For the first time it sounded like a compliment and not a snide remark.

“ _People_ , huh?” Scott heard Keema say under her breath with a knowing smirk. Scott wisely chose not to comment.

The three of them stormed into the large, cluttered room backstage, the main hub of the place it seemed, various corridors leading away to different parts of the building. Reyes positioned himself in the middle and clapped his hands.

“Hey, everyone!” He raised his voice and, almost as if he had cast a spell, various figures popped out from every nook and cranny. Some stepped from out of the shadows in the corners, some peered down on them from between the wooden steps leading to the first floor, some came running from the sides, and some left the stage in full costumes, abandoning the rehearsal. Scott counted thirty or so faces, all staring at Reyes and him, waiting.

Scott was blown away. All of these people… none of them could be described as normal even by the most sympathetic spectator. All bore scars, body deformations, intricate tattoos, indecent outfits, things that forever marked them as exiles from respected society. Even the most unremarkable of the bunch wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without causing heads to turn. Like the young woman casually carrying a 50 pound barbell over her head with one hand, the other scratching her belly, not a care in the world. Or the short-haired man, standing in a pose that was either extremely painful or indicated that every bone in his body had been broken and twisted.

Most of the crew wore casual clothes, making the encounter even more bizarre. They were… real. Not just pixies pouncing on stage to entertain the crowd. That was their job, sure, but each had a life beyond that. However obvious that realization was, for Scott it was a realization nonetheless.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Collective, this is Scott.” Reyes pointed to him. “From now on he’s a part of the Greatest Show.”

Nervous and anxious, Scott bowed his head politely.

“Good morning. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

A choir of _hellos_ , _hiyas_ , _hi’s_ , and a few other cruder variations thereof hit his ears. Nobody here bothered much with etiquette, he supposed. Perfect.

“What can you do?” shouted a blue-skinned woman, reclining languidly on the stairs. A few sticks of dynamite had been placed carefully in her jacket, the wicks poking out of every pocket and from behind her ear.  She didn’t sound confrontational, simply curious.

Scott felt dozens of similarly inquisitive pairs of eyes staring at him intently. Unsure, he glanced at Reyes, his palms getting sweaty again.

“Come on. They don’t bite. Unless that’s your thing.” Reyes winked at him – goddamn he _winked_ at him – and all higher mental functions in Scott’s mind just went _poof_. Pretty sure that he’d forgotten how to English, all he could do was to nod in assent.

What to show them though? Well… maybe an encore would be in order, just in front of a bigger audience.

Scott extended his hand, his skin flashing purple. He zoned in on Reyes, which wasn’t hard at all. A breath to calm himself and concentrate. Reyes shot up in the air, stopping about two feet above the ground. This time Reyes had been prepared. To gasps of awe, slacked jaws and wide-opened eyes he replied with a smug smile. That display of confidence emboldened Scott. His gift was… welcome, admired. Why not show off a little more?

Scott jumped up, joining Reyes in the air, uplifted by the same biotic force. Loud cheers and whistles felt like a balm soothing his anxious heart. He smiled as well, met by nothing but wonderment. No fear, no disgust, no condemnation. Maybe here all of them were already condemned.

Scott let himself and Reyes twirl a little more before gently putting them back down on the floor. The performers hooted and clapped loudly, going wild.

“Told you you’re special,” said Reyes, half-joking. Scott felt tears gathering in his eyes. Quickly, he blinked them away before he started sobbing like a baby and lost all the goodwill he’d earned.

“Floaty boy, wooo!” whooped the blue-skinned woman, thankfully not enhancing the message with explosions.

“A biotic. Cool. Never seen one before,” said the contortionist, lifting a thumb. Oddly bent, but it was the gesture of approval that mattered.

“Looks less murderous than he should from what I heard,” added the man covered in scars. “I guess I won’t have to snipe him.”

Wait, what? Snipe?

“Wish I had powers like these!” hollered one of the technicians from the catwalk. “Would use them to lift Crux’s dress!”

A girl, Crux as it seemed, shook her fist at him and held the barbell like a sword.

“I don’t need no powers to break ya dirty snout!” Her forehead was dangerously creased but the playful smile made the threat empty.

More laughter and loud “woooos” followed. It felt so… homey. They all behaved like a family. Well, like a family should, at least. Full of banter, teasing for sure, but he had no doubt that they all supported one another no matter what, he could see the tight bonds between them. And no one cared if the others were considered abnormal. Here freakish was the new normal. Here, even a biotic could fit right in.

Scott couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re all pretty cool too,” he shouted to the group, eliciting a few laughs.

“Hey, you lazy bums, introduction’s over! I’m not paying you for slacking off! Get back to work!” Reyes clapped his hands. Surprisingly, the order was met with a round of laughter just as rambunctious.

“You’re paying us peanuts anyway!” someone yelled back. Reyes only quirked an eyebrow.

“At least you have something to eat, losers.”

More laughing. How could this circus even function if the director was on familiar terms with his employees? That definitely wasn’t the way his dad behaved towards the people who worked in his factories. He never spoke to them at all if he could avoid it, they were beneath him, like flies to an eagle.

Among the animated chatter, the Collective slowly dispersed, going back to their tasks. The idleness couldn’t last for long, the show was on tonight, which was easy to tell by the technical staff adjusting the ropes and checking if the lights worked properly. It was fascinating to see this world of art from the other side, not as a spectator but as a part of the team.

Scott was no longer a fresh sensation, although he could still feel curious but friendly glances thrown in his direction from all sides. He’d love to get to know these people better. If things went well, he would.

“We’re quite packed at the moment,” said Reyes, bringing him back to reality, “but if you want you can share a room with Kian. He can fit himself into a shoebox, he won’t take much of your space.”

“Oh.” Scott blinked. Was he just offered accommodation? Wow… Tempting. Very tempting… But if he stopped coming home all together... His father would move heaven and earth to get him back. Scott didn’t feel brave enough to deal with Alec Ryder’s rage. Not yet, at least. “No, it’s fine. I have my own place. I’ll just come here to work.”

“Suit yourself.” Reyes shrugged. For a second he looked almost disappointed but that must have been just a flicker of light, since immediately the same excited smile appeared on his face again. “Come. We’ll need to find you a good costume.”

“A suit?” Scott asked. Reyes looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

“God no. Nothing more boring than a suit.”

“Unless it’s red,” supplied Keema. Apparently, the order to get back to work didn’t extend to her.

“Unless it’s red,” Reyes agreed readily. “But that image is taken already by yours truly.”

It crossed Scott’s mind that he’d enjoy putting on Reyes’ stage outfit but he bit his tongue in time. Better not be too creepy.

All three of them, Keema acting as Reyes’ shadow, moved closer to the shabby clothes rack standing in the corner of the room. It was groaning under the weight of dusty costumes from a whole range of plays hanging there abandoned for years. Neither Reyes nor Keema seemed to be bothered by that, both plunging between the fabrics with gusto. Scott didn’t want to crowd them so he kept his distance, hearing only occasional muffled discussions as a new idea was put up for vote and ultimately discarded. So far there was no consensus. Good, because the last outfit resembled fishnet stockings crossed with a mangy fur. No thanks.

Turning slowly on his heel, he looked around, breathed in the stuffy smell of dust and sweat. It was… amazing. His heart beat fast in his chest and his whole body vibrated. Finally, he felt alive. Finally, he was reaching to the stars. Finally, life was worth living.

And he hadn’t even started yet. How would things change once he actually stepped on the stage, truly became a part of the Collective, faced the crowds? And with Reyes Vidal at his side? All of that made his head spin.

“Yes! Perfect!”

“Indeed. Perfect.”

Scott looked curiously at Reyes. The man held an impressive bundle of fabric that apparently bore the mark of approval both from the director himself and his deputy. Reyes promptly shoved all of it into Scott’s arms.

“Slip into it,” he ordered. “The size should be correct but if not we’ll make some adjustments. Vetra is a surprisingly skilled seamstress.”

“Never doubt me!” came from above. Scott looked up, only to find the two acrobatic sisters climbing beams near the ceiling without any security measures. Neither propriety nor safety were in high regard here. Not to mention privacy.

“I would never,” Reyes assured her, then turned to Scott, getting impatient. “What are you waiting for?”

“Um…” Scott pressed the duds to his chest. Better a shield like that than nothing. “Here? Now?”

“Yeah.”

Oh no. Definitely, no way he’d strip in front of Reyes Vidal. Not when he was already sporting a half hard-on. 

“Don’t you have like a proper dressing room or something?”

Reyes shrugged. “Yes. But I’m fairly sure it’s occupied at the moment.” He paused. Scott didn’t even budge. Reyes sighed, rolling his eyes. “Fine. You can change in my office.”

Scott looked left and right, aware how helpless he must seem. Where was that office again? The nearest corridor? Or the one opposite?

Reyes’ amused snort caught his attention.

“I’ll show you the way,” he offered.

“Thanks.” Scott said, relieved. And only slightly embarrassed.

Reyes nodded and turned to Keema. “Go and check if Dr. Nakamoto needs something.”

“Of course.” Before Keema twirled around and wandered off, she gave Scott a conspiratorial wink. It only reinforced Scott’s nagging suspicion that Dr. Nakamoto, whoever he was, didn’t actually need any help at all. Interesting. Reyes wanted to have him all to himself?

Scott swallowed hard, chastising his stupid heart for getting carried away.

Reyes started walking and Scott did too, drawing level with him, shoulder to shoulder. Trying to be discreet, he kept casting sideway glances at the Charlatan. Damn, he was handsome. So handsome that it was distracting – Scott nearly tripped over a lonely chair abandoned in the corridor. And then again over his own feet.

“You’re lucky you didn’t apply here as an acrobat.” Reyes laughed. Scott felt like an idiot. Flustered idiot. To wipe the smear of shame from his face, he decided to change the topic.

“So, Reyes… Why did you decide to open a circus?” he asked.

Much to his surprise, the expression on the man’s face turned almost wistful before he trained it into something far more neutral.

“Better that than smuggling moonshine, right?” Then he added with humor, although Scott couldn’t tell how genuine it was, “I’m in charge of the greatest con here. People actually _want_ to pay me!” He chuckled but it sounded rather hollow. A dismissal. “And you, Scott? Why did you decide to join the us?”

Scott considered briefly a noncommittal answer like ‘money,’ but Reyes seemed far too smart and experienced to buy such a blatant lie. A truth then.

“Better that than pretending I’m normal, right?” He shrugged. “Always hiding who you are, it’s exhausting.”

“Very true.” No elaboration followed. Not that Scott really expected it.

In silence, they traversed the rest of the distance to the office. Reyes opened the door for him and invited him in with a courteous gesture.

“Thanks.” Scott entered Reyes’ space alone.

His working space, that much was clear from how few personal objects were here. Now, without the scrutiny of a pair of golden eyes, he could take a better look at the room. The ledger was lying closed on the desk. Part of Scott was tempted to take a peek inside. The other, thankfully much larger part, managed to convince him that breaching someone’s trust – especially someone on whom you harbored a hopeless crush – was an extremely bad idea.

Having dealt successfully with this moral dilemma, Scott dumped the bundle of clothes on the chair and looked at it critically. Seemed like… not a lot of fabric, too be honest. An abundance of blue feathers, though. Lots of them.

Shit. Too late to bail. Oh well.

Five minutes and five hundred curses later, Scott had put everything on. Correctly, he hoped. It was… it _was_. Strange. Definitely unlike anything he had ever worn in his life. And the mask… Wow. Lack of shoes was a problem. His feet were getting cold against the bare wooden floor. Something he had to get used to, he supposed.

Scott whipped his head around but there was no mirror in the office. Pity. He must look… hm. Interesting, for sure.

Hesitantly, he stepped out of the room. The way Reyes’ face lit up confirmed his prediction. And made him blush stupidly.

“So… how do I look?” he asked and was instantly reminded how Sara always asked him the same thing, preening for Jaal. Vanity ran in the family, it seemed. Scott wanted so badly to be attractive to Reyes. How sad and pathetic was that?

Scott held his breath as Reyes looked him up and down.

“Amazing.” It sounded more pensive than blown away. “But something’s missing. Come on.”

And just like that Reyes was dashing back to the main room. Scott had no choice but to follow, feeling extremely weird as his bare feet kept tapping against wood and stone.

“Do you have a mirror or something? I’d really like to see how I look,” Scott said, a little out of breath.

Reyes didn’t reply so Scott assumed that he hadn’t heard him. But the reply came, just with a slight delay, as Reyes dived among the clothes again.

“Sure. Crux!” he yelled into the void and a few seconds later the ginger woman materialized right next to them. This time she came sans barbell.

“Uh-huh?”

“Fetch us the mirror, okay? The big one.”

“Uh-huh.”

And there she went, consumed by the shadows. When Scott turned his head back towards Reyes, the man was standing right in front of him, merely inches apart. Scott felt goosebumps rising that had little to do with cold. 

“Don’t move. And don’t sneeze,” said Reyes.

“What…?” Scott closed his mouth when he felt a brush moving against his cheek. Reyes, a look of concentration on his face, painted something with zeal and Scott had no idea what was happening. He was hyperaware, though, that the man was so close to him that just one step forward and he’d find himself in his arms.

Hopefully, the layer of paint would be thick enough to cover the blush undoubtedly already creeping up from his neck.

Reyes adjusted Scott’s mask, gave him a quick onceover and nodded, apparently satisfied with the result. The cosmetics had been discarded in favor of glitter. Scott felt it sprinkled against his hair, his face, his outfit and rubbed generously over his naked shoulders and forearms. The request not to sneeze proved to be a very difficult one to obey.

Worth it, though. The smile Reyes gave him made him warm and fuzzy in all the right and several of the wrong places.

“Perfect.”

_Why thank you, you’re not so bad yourself_.

Scott was grateful that his two still-functioning brain cells didn’t elect to say these words aloud. It was bad enough that his body language conveyed interest with the subtlety of a battering ram. Reyes remained oblivious, too wrapped up in his art project.

The strongwoman, Crux, chose that moment to reappear, holding in her petite arms a mirror easily twice her size. Keema crawled out of some hole too, as well as the large majority if not all of the Collective. Hard to pass up on more free entertainment, he supposed.

“Meet the new you,” Reyes said, pointing encouragingly towards the mirror. “What do you think, Scott?”

His knees weak and his step wobbly, Scott moved towards the reflecting surface. His moment of truth. With bated breath, he stood in front of his altered doppelganger.

Scott gasped, incapable of making a more dignified or intelligent sound.

He looked… Oh God. Where should he even begin?

As he was putting the parts of the costume on his body, he couldn’t quite picture how all the elements would fit together. Now he saw the attire in its entire glory and could barely comprehend what lay before his eyes. Never before had he worn anything as skimpy and scandalous as this.

Gray see-through pants embroidered with sequins hugged his muscly legs tightly, stopping right above the ankles of his bare feet. A long black sleeveless shirt with low neckline — he refused to call it a dress —barely covered his ass. The shirt’s frayed rim was cut in a ‘V’ shape, his crotch protected by more fabric than the sides of his legs. A strip of black fabric sewn with tiny white sparkling crystals acted as a belt and accentuated his waist. The seam of the shirt’s neckline was adorned with blue feathers, spreading more freely the closer to the shoulders they were, a pair of wings of sorts. The same feathers, just much smaller, crowned the end of elbow-high gloves, black but with swirly blue lines painted over it. His naked skin was peppered with glitter and he could see two large blue triangles on his cheeks, giving him an otherworldly appearance. Not to mention the mask, blue and feathered headgear, concealing the upper part of his face, a small raven-like beak reaching over his nose. Impressive feathers were attached en masse to the top of the headgear, some standing proud and some flowing lightly onto his hair in soft blue cascades.

“Damn…” Scott muttered at last, overwhelmed. In the most positive sense. He truly felt magical in this ridiculous garb. More like himself than he ever had in his life. He almost wanted to cry.

“So now we just need a name worthy of this costume,” said Keema, smiling and nodding with approval. The rest of the crew hummed in agreement, dozens of pairs of eyes not wanting to miss a thing.

Reyes had thought of everything if his grin was to be believed.

“Behold, the Tempest. Master of the wind,” he said pompously, before immediately returning to his almost childlike excitement.

“Stealing ideas from Shakespeare?” Keema raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I’m the Charlatan. If not me then who?”

“The Tempest…” Scott echoed, so emotional that the words came out garbled. It was really happening. He was part of the Collective now. One of the freaks. He belonged. Truly, he was seconds away from blubbering into Reyes’ shirt. He swallowed hard, and to divert attention from himself, he used his powers to lift the mirror in the air. “I like it! Winds obey me for I am your master!”

There were whoops and cheers, Scott beaming at all the faces that surrounded him, tears welling up dangerously in his eyes. Shit, it was his crybaby day.

“Now all you need is a special performance, something to blow the public’s minds with,” Reyes said, sounding very businesslike. Scott straightened himself up and tried to look like a serious performer and not a kid about to happy sob.

“Okay. Um… Any suggestions?” he asked, coming up blank.

Reyes tapped his chin with the tip of his finger. His face lit up mischievously, livened by a spark of inspiration.

“Say, Scott… Can you lift an elephant?”

 

* * *

 

“Sara! Sara!”

She stirred in her sleep, letting out a sigh.

“Sara!”

Her room was suddenly flooded with light. Wincing, she slowly parted her eyelids, squinting because of the bright onslaught on her dream-addled senses. She felt a presence near her bed.

A face was hovering right above her own.

She gasped in surprise, jerking to sit up and push the assailant away as violently as she could. Her startled heart thudded in her chest, a drum beat, a call to battle. She was about to roar in anger and grab the nightlamp to bash the stranger’s skull in when a hand was placed over her mouth and the other gently on her shoulder.

“Shh, it’s me.”

Sara blinked, her mind processing more lucidly what was happening. Slowly but surely, her brain caught up with the scene. The hands disappeared, freeing her.

“Scott?” she asked incredulously and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was two AM. Unbelievable. “Where the hell have you been? And what are you doing frightening decent citizens in the middle of the night?”

Scott looked as if he hadn’t heard a word she said. He was smiling in a strangely manic way, enthusiasm oozing from his every pore. She expected him to start bouncing up and down like a rubber ball.

“Sara, I need you to come to the show two weeks from now!”

“What?”

“Here are the tickets.” She watched stupefied as he shoved two small papery rectangles into her hands. _Vidal’s House of Wonders_ , the caption said.

“Wha…?

“You can take Jaal if you want.”

“Huh? Scott—”

“Please.” His stare was so intense that she was surprised it didn’t burn right through her. “This is very important to me.”

For a moment she held his gaze, trying to read him. And failing. But she could tell that for some reason he really wanted her to go. It had been a long while since she’d seen him so agitated, so… alive. How could she say no to that?

“Fine.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, giving up. “I’ll come.”

“Thanks, sis.” Scott laughed and kissed her forehead with a loud smack.

“Scott, what happened?” Her stomach tied in a knot, full of worry.

“Everything!” he replied, all his teeth on display.

“Seriously, are you drunk?”

“Only on happiness!” He laughed again, blew her a raspberry and slipped out of the room, more dancing than walking, turning the lights off with a wave of his hand alit with biotic powers.

Sara sat in the darkened room, clutching the tickets in her hand. She had a bad feeling about all this. Very bad. And she could swear she saw some glitter sparkling on her twin brother’s neck.

“What did you get yourself into, Scott?” she sighed. Somehow she doubted she would get any more sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think Scott's costume feels familiar you are very right! I was heavily influenced by the outfit Chloe worn in Life is Strange: Before the Storm during the Tempest (ha!) play. If you're not familiar with the game, [here](https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mXDuT98f2kw/Whd4re-k5tI/AAAAAAAAD6s/gXQNTvv2IOUsVUDjF62djtYmV9SUXsbtACLcBGAs/s1600/gta_sa_compact%2B2017-11-22%2B14-37-05-17.jpg) you can check how it looks like. Scott's costume is not exactly the same though - his mask covers half of his face.


	7. We're Free to Fly

 

“No, no! To the right! Spin to the right!” Reyes’ urgent command made Scott trip and nearly fall on his ass. Vetra caught him just in time, keeping him steady. Scott thanked her with a curt, sheepish nod and moved his gaze to the master of ceremonies, shame coloring his cheeks scarlet. He’d messed up again.

“Sorry. I’m hopeless.”

How could it be that even without his costume on he was clumsier than the guy walking on stilts? Everyone around Scott worked like a perfectly oiled machine, all the cogs slotting together with ease. But him? A random spring someone had crammed inside in the vain hope of improving the already superb device. The odd man out, a stranger in the well-rehearsed number, and he was painfully aware of that, more with every mistake he made.

Reyes, his head tilted pensively to the side, stood in front of them, at the edge of the stage. The grand coordinator, professional to a fault, his arms crossed over his chest. And yet a surprisingly lenient smile curved his lips.

“It’s your first day, Scott. You’re doing fine.”

“Yeah,” the blue-skinned woman chimed in. What was her name? Lux? No… Lynx! Yeah, Lynx. He still had problems remembering all the Collective’s names. “Compared to Crux, you’re a pro. It took her a month to learn which side is left and which is right.”

The insulted girl blew a raspberry at Lynx, otherwise unbothered. Scott smiled, feeling a little better about himself.

From the stalls, the musical routine looked so… easy. All the performers knowing the steps, the figures flowing smoothly and seamlessly morphing into different ones, graceful but fizzing with energy and full of life. Now he could see how much hard work was put into the show to make it seem so effortless. With newly found appreciation came the certainty that he had to do his very best to fit in. Determination was easy to find, though. All he had to do was to remember one of the prospective brides his dad had showed him to find a new surge of strength to keep going.

“Again!” Reyes snapped his fingers and the music started anew. The opening number, The Greatest Show, for many the first contact they had with Vidal’s House of Wonders. It had to be immaculate to blow the audience’s minds.

Scott knew the lyrics by heart already. It was sufficient to watch the spectacle two times; the words stuck in his mind, no big deal. Singing was not a problem. But to actually make his body follow the rhythm and remember where to bend, when to turn, and in which direction… well, that was the real challenge. What they did here wasn’t a ballroom dance. Here, he really had to control and move his every muscle accordingly. And in the right order at that. Some difficulty with all of that was understandable, right?

This time Scott reached nearly to the song’s middle before accidentally bumping into Kian, both of them tumbling down to the floor in an awkward cascade of limbs.

“Again!”

_…Impossible comes true, it's taking over you…_

Scott stepped hard on Sid’s foot, causing her to yelp in pain.

“Again!”

_…It's everything you ever want, it's everything you ever need…_

By mistake, Scott threw Bob the Sniper’s gun into the air instead of Lynx’s bundle of rigged gunpowder. Neither of them was too happy about it.

“Again!”

_…This is where you wanna be…_

Scott crashed into Keema, nearly tearing off her fake mane.

“Again!”

Scott fell…

“Again!”

Scott slipped…

“Again!”

Scott confused…

“Again!”

Scott…

“Again!”

…

“Again!”

 

* * *

 

At the end of the day, Scott was sweaty, sore, and exhausted, with a whole colony of blisters erupting on his feet, a throbbing bump on his forehead, a scraped knee and a completely torn jacket. Sam, their family butler to whom this outfit originally belonged, would murder him… No, not murder. He’d raise his eyebrows and look at Scott in that ‘I’m disappointed, young man’ way which was even worse.

And yet despite all that Scott couldn’t stop smiling. All the pains and aches weren’t for naught. The last attempt went flawlessly. The Greatest Show without even one mistake. From start to finish, every note and every step. Execution so perfect that there could be no more room for improvement.

Everybody cheered. Scott had received so many pats on his back that he was surely sporting a vibrant bruise in his shoulder blade area. No matter. Reyes looked proud of him. Honestly, that was the best reward. He didn’t need anything else but the man’s approval.

Reyes dismissed the rest of the Collective with a wave of his hand and approached him, a content smile painted on his face and lively sparks crinkling in his golden eyes.

“Good job, Scott. You’re a natural. Were you born on a stage by any chance?”

“Dunno,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug, even as he puffed out his chest. So much for acting as if the compliment didn’t faze him. “But now I’m inclined to believe that theory.”

Reyes’ smile became wider.

“See? Performing is your destiny. You should have run away with a circus ages ago.”

“Maybe. But if I had I wouldn’t have met you.” Wow. Shit. That came out far bolder than he intended. No, no, he had to backpedal before Reyes called him a pervert or worse. “I mean, you’re a very good director. The Charlatan, one of a kind. It’s a pleasure to work with you.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Was that enough for damage control? Hard to tell with the enigmatic expression on Reyes’ face. His true thoughts remained an impenetrable mystery. Oh great. Scott was boiling, the tension between them killing him softly. He was blushing too and sweating all over. Hopefully, Reyes would chalk it up to post-rehearsal exhaustion.

Man, he really was hopeless.

“Say, Scott…” Reyes started, pulling him out of his pity party. If Scott hadn’t known better, he might have concluded that Reyes too felt a bit awkward with the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Nah, impossible. “Are you in a hurry?”

The question caught Scott by surprise. Instinctively, he looked up at the giant clock hanging right next to the stairs. Ten minutes past eight. Huh, time really did fly when you were having fun. It was kind of late. The rational part of him knew that he should head home, wanting to arrive before his dad. And, of course, he desperately needed some rest. A lot of it. That would be the smart thing to do.

Well, too bad he wasn’t particularly smart. Or good at resisting temptations.

“Not really, no. Why?”

“After rehearsals we like to hit the bar nearby. Umi, the owner of Kralla’s Song, is a part of local folklore. It’s sort of ah… tradition for the new members of the Collective to try some of her famous experimental concoctions. So, would you like to join me…” Reyes coughed briefly into his closed fist. “…Join us? Fancy a drink like no other?”

This time inner and outer Scott were in total agreement.

“Yes! I’d love to!”

Reyes chuckled, a deep and sexy sound that did interesting things to Scott’s feverish skin.

“Splendid! Wait here a second. I’ll change into my normal clothes and we’re off.”

“Sure.”

Scott watched him walk away, pep in his gait, and couldn’t stop a big goofy smile from spreading on his face.

Holy shit. A drink with Reyes Vidal? Yes, please!

He had a feeling this would be a night to remember.

 

* * *

 

When they entered the bar — a small, cozy joint dimmed with swirls of tobacco smoke — everyone was already there. Scott’s gaze slid across the familiar silhouettes, technicians and performers from the show. It seemed only the Collective was partying here tonight. With the amount of alcohol they were consuming, though, the owner should suffer no losses.

Speaking of the owner… Behind the counter Scott noticed a skinny woman of indeterminate age and a scowl permanently etched into her features. She clearly wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but here. And with the look she gave all the patrons, she didn’t want them to be here either. Well, that boded well.

“Is she always like that?” Scott murmured.

“Only on her good days. Come on, let me introduce you.” Reyes beckoned him forward, urging him to follow. That was the first thing he had said to him since they stepped out of the theater. Not that the silence between them wasn’t companionable, but Scott definitely preferred more audio.

“Okay.” He shadowed Reyes to the counter, maneuvering between tables and animated clientele that drank and laughed without a care, unwinding after a long day. Scott felt the glances cast at him from time to time but they weren’t hostile. That was reassuring. At least no one hated him. Yet. Some even went as far as to toast him, but maybe they just needed another pretext to imbibe. He couldn’t really hold that against them. Keema, sitting in a corner all by herself, seemed the soberest of the bunch and observed everything intently. Seeing Scott hard at Reyes’ heels, she hid her smile in a tankard of ale. What was on _her_ mind?

“Umi,” Reyes said, pointing to Scott the moment he slipped onto a stool, right next to Reyes. “This is Scott. Our newest acquisition into the Collective.”

“Hi.” Scott nodded at her, as non-threatening as a puppy. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Umi looked him up and down, unimpressed.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You’re drinking or not?”

Well, a truly sunny disposition if he ever seen one.

“Whiskey for me,” Reyes said, making a gesture indicating a double shot. “And something special for Scott here. It’s his first day in the show.”

Umi smiled. Somehow that made her three times scarier.

“Fresh meat.” This time she looked at him like a butcher might look at an innocent, unsuspecting lamb about to be slaughtered. Scott gulped audibly. “I improved the formula. Can’t wait to test it on a living subject.”

Reassuring. Scott looked at Reyes helplessly, but the man just winked. No help coming from that direction.

Oh well, how bad could it really be?

Umi put a glass of whiskey in front of Reyes and a large mug of… something in front of Scott. Suspiciously, Scott leaned forward to take a whiff.

And immediately regretted it.

“Ugh, eww! What’s that?” He fanned his nose in a futile attempt to protect what was left of his sense of smell. “Cod-liver oil mixed with sewer water and rubbing alcohol?”

“Ha! You wish!” Reyes raised his own glass, apparently enjoying himself. “¡ _Salud_!” In one gulp, he finished his drink with visible pleasure. He exhaled, putting the glass bottom up on the counter, and stared at Scott expectantly. Umi was staring too, her gaze drilling holes into his skull.

Scott sighed. It was his own goddamn fault. The sooner he got this over with, the better. The drink couldn’t actually be poisonous, could it? Scott hoped that Reyes liked him enough not to casually expose him to the risk of catching typhoid fever.

He could tell that the conversations around them had died down. Everyone was gawking at him, the aura of expectancy thicker in the room than the smoke. It truly did feel like a test, like some sort of rite of passage. Not a true member of the Collective until your stomach got turned inside out.

“You only live once, I guess.” Putting a brave face on, Scott brought the mug to his lips. Ugh, better not linger or he might puke. He squeezed his eyes shut and downed the potion in a flash. For a second, nothing happened, his throat too desensitized to feel anything. And then… then everything happened at once.

Scott slammed the empty container on the counter, bending in half. He wheezed, spluttered, coughed, his bulging eyes drowning in tears. Reality distorted and collapsed all around him, going completely out of focus as if a sudden fit of extreme short-sightedness overcame him. His bones were melting in his body, his skin dropped to the floor like a mangy carpet. His ontological status became indeterminate when he twisted into a bundle of pulsing infinity.

And then the world sharpened again, bringing with it the close-up view of Reyes’ face looking at him with concern.

“Huh, still sitting. How disappointing,” Umi said, but not without a grudging note of approval. The Collective laughed, cheered, drank to him, and got back to their own business. The test had been passed, it seemed.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but you’ll live.” Reyes put a hand on his shoulder and with the other signaled Umi for two more glasses of whiskey. The woman scoffed but started pouring.

“What was that?” Scott asked weakly, pretty sure that his face had turned an olive green hue.

“Better not to know. Trust me. I made the mistake of inquiring and still have nightmares.” Reyes took glasses from Umi and offered one to Scott. “Drink up. It will flush the foul taste from your mouth.”

He didn’t have to tell Scott twice. The whiskey disappeared down his throat with frantic speed, bringing respite to his violated internal organs.

“Ugh, whatever that drink was, it should be classified as a chemical weapon,” Scott stated with conviction, wincing. “Umi can sell the recipe to the military and make a fortune.”

“Unlikely.” Reyes smiled. “She likes being a bartender far too much.”

The woman made a very unladylike gesture at him. She walked aside to polish clean glasses, ignoring them both pointedly.

Scott’s lips twitched. The concoction was beyond awful, true, but despite that he felt… good. More than good. Giddy and excited, the alcohol buzzing joyously in his veins. He grinned at Reyes, whose golden eyes also glistened with all the drinks he had consumed so rapidly.  

“You know?” Scott pressed his hand to his mouth to muffle a giggle but failed. “That was wild. I’ve never done anything so stupid in my life.”

“And how do you feel about it?”

“Amazing.”

Reyes smiled, from ear to ear.

“That reminds me, I started working on a new song. Thematically appropriate to our conversation. Wanna hear it, Scott?”

“I’d love to.” Just as he’d love to gaze into Reyes’ eyes ‘til the end of the world. Even in his casual, unremarkable clothes — not that he didn’t look gorgeous in them — there was still some Charlatan residue on him, that spark of creative madness and charisma that pulled Scott towards him like a magnet. Maybe those who spoke about magnetism between people were right, after all.

Reyes leaned even closer to him, rolled his shoulders and cleared his throat. He started to sing, his voice strong and constantly in tune. A few shots of whiskey weren’t enough to hamper his musical prowess.

“ _Right here, right now, I put the offer out. I don't want to chase you down, but I know you see it. You run with me_ ,” Reyes poked his own chest and then Scott’s, “ _and I can cut you free, out of the drudgery and walls you keep in_!” He clapped his hands, then beat the same rhythm against the counter. The Collective’s heads turned towards him, wondering what was going on. However, Reyes had eyes only for Scott. “ _So trade that typical for something colorful. And if it's crazy, live a little crazy. You can play it sensible, a king of conventional, or you can risk it all and see…_ ”

Scott watched in stunned silence as Reyes climbed on top of the stool and then stepped onto the counter, confident and marvelous as if this were a stage and a spotlight was shining right on him.

“ _Don't you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play 'cause I got what you need so come with me and take the ride. It'll take you to the other side!_ ” Reyes extended a hand towards him, an offer to join him. How could he refuse? Scott took the hand and jumped onto the counter as well, blind and deaf to Umi’s protests. Reyes, the smile not leaving his face, sang on, walking backwards and pulling Scott along, pushing the dirty glasses out of the way. “ _'Cause you can do like you do or you can do like me. Stay in the cage, or you'll finally take the key. Oh, damn! Suddenly you're free to fly! It'll take you to the other side._ ”

And he took him to the closest table, Keema’s, jumping there from the counter. With Scott in tow, enchanted and laughing loudly, he leapt two more tables, accompanied by loud encouraging shouts from the Collective. Only Umi didn’t seem pleased.

“Hey!” she yelled, threatening him with an empty bottle. “Get down, now!”

Reyes turned to her with an impish smirk. The song wasn’t over, or perhaps he improvised the next part.

“ _Now is this really how you like to spend your days? Whiskey and misery, and parties and plays?_ ”

The woman growled, her short fuse reaching its end. She chucked the bottle, aiming it straight at Reyes’ head. He ducked, indifferent. But even if he hadn’t moved an inch, he would have been fine.

Scott stopped the bottle in midair with his biotic powers before it even got a chance to graze Reyes.

“I think you dropped something,” he said, making the bottle float back to the gobsmacked bartender and settle on the counter.

The whole Collective went crazy with ‘ooooohs’ and ‘aaaaahs’ and shit-eating grins. Aside from glaring daggers, Umi couldn’t retaliate.  She had been defeated and her dismay made everything even better.

Scott’s powers made him feel like the hero of the day. He wasn’t feared, he was admired. The best feeling in the world.

“It seems you saved me,” Reyes said, grateful and charming. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“May I repay you by asking you for a dance?”

Scott watched in shock as Reyes bowed before him, offering his hand. Now that was something he hadn’t expected even in his wildest dreams.

“Um… Sure?”

It was so bizarre that Scott just let the scene unfold. Reyes took his hand, and wrapped his other arm around Scott’s waist. A perfect gentleman, not breaching any norms of propriety. Aside, of course, from leading a waltz-like dance with another man on a table in a seedy bar.

Stunned, Scott just submitted, letting Reyes guide their steps. Scott had never been on the receiving end of a dance, but he quite liked it, liked how close to him Reyes was; he could feel the heat emanating from his body. If Scott were sober he’d probably die of embarrassment, sensing all those pairs of eyes on him, watching his every move. Thankfully, he was anything but, his head and his heart feeling pleasantly light. They swayed together to the rhythm of their beating hearts. Smiling, Scott was happy to get lost in Reyes’ beautiful golden eyes.

Reyes was really good at this. At… everything, Scott’s love- and alcohol-addled brain couldn’t exactly specify.

“I didn’t know you can dance so well, Scott,” Reyes said suddenly, dipping him and then pulling him flush to his chest. There was fire in his eyes and Scott wouldn’t mind getting burned.

“I had to learn it. Always hated it though.”

“Do you hate it now?”

Scott swallowed hard, just inches from Reyes’ lips.

“No…”

For some time, they danced in silence. Scott didn’t think about anything in particular. He’d had enough of thinking, now was the time to feel.

“You know, we haven’t even discussed your salary,” said Reyes out of the blue.

Scott frowned. To spoil the mood with such trivialities!

“Ah, I guess. Whatever. I don’t care about money.”

“That’s because you have it.”

There was something more in Reyes’ voice — Reprimand? Ridicule? — but Scott didn’t let himself be intimidated, not when he was full to the brim with Dutch courage.

“Money is not the most important thing. There are things I care about far more,” he replied ardently. “Give me freedom over money any day.”

Reyes observed him, pensive, his head tilted to the side. Whatever conclusion he arrived at, it must have been a positive one. A smile that big couldn’t lie.

“You’re an ideal employee then.”

Scott laughed. “And that’s not even the best part about me!”

“Oh?” Reyes sounded intrigued.

“Yeah. Sing that chorus again. I have an idea.”

He already had Reyes’ curiosity, but now he had his attention too.

“ _Don't you wanna get away to a whole new part you're gonna play ‘cause I got what you need, so come with me and take the ride to the other side! So if you do like I do, so if you do like me_ –”

Scott placed his index finger on Reyes’ lips, silencing him. He had an idea how to continue so he supplied the next line.

“ _Forget the cage, ‘cause we know how to make the key!_ ”

Reyes beamed at him. And without missing a beat, went on.

“ _Oh, damn! Suddenly we're free to fly! We're going to the other side!_ ”

Scott’s skin flared with purple aura as he let them fly to a table on the other side of the bar, an impossible leap without magical powers. Reyes laughed out loud, twirled him around and jumped again.

“ _To the other side!_ ”

Yet another biotic leap, both of them high above the heads of the Collective and the grim Umi. A free, spontaneous performance fueled by alcohol and the communion of souls.

“ _We’re going to the other side!_ ”

 Singing in unison, floating through air, Scott had never felt closer to anyone. Not only physically.

“ _We’re going to the other side…_ ”

Slowly, they dropped to the floor, holding hands, both faces flushed and painted with the same wonderment.

The Collective clapped, impressed. Scott and Reyes took their bows, giggling stupidly, their hands still joined, trading smiles and fond glances.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scott caught Keema’s amused gaze, mysterious and all-knowing like a sphinx, having figured out answers to questions Scott couldn’t even start to form.

 

* * *

 

As quietly as possible, Scott sneaked into the house through the kitchen door. It was past midnight already and everyone was in bed. He’d deal with Sam in the morning and pay him back for the ruined clothes. Right now, Scott was too exhausted for anything. He couldn’t even lift his aching feet to climb the stairs, so he simply floated up. Fuck it, why not use his talent like he did in the bar, what harm would it do? The memories of flying carelessly near the ceiling, of Reyes’ rich laughter, and the fading sensation of the man’s warm hands would keep him company at night, stronger even than a budding hangover. Oh, he was absolutely wrecked. He could sleep for a week. Which of course wouldn’t happen because tomorrow awaited with the continuation of rehearsals. More routines to master and his own performance to develop. Not too bad a prospect—at least he’d see Reyes.

But for now? Destination: bed. A bath and the rest of the world could wait until tomorrow.

He opened the door to his room and slipped inside. Immediately he realized that he wasn’t alone. Sara, in her nightgown, sat in a chair right next to the window, her forehead leaning against the glass. Hearing him come in, she turned her head. The flickering light of a candle painted deep shadows on her face that only enhanced the dark angry cloud that settled there. She stood up, putting her fists on her hips.

“Where have you been, Scott?”

Scott groaned. Great. A lecture. Just what he needed. It seemed like a repeat from yesterday, but this time Sara was actually pissed at him.

“Out.”

“Out where?”

Scott shrugged vaguely, starting to unbutton his shirt. Sara stared him down, seconds from snorting like a raging bull.

“Scott, you’re drunk.”

“Not anymore. And keep your voice down, my head is pounding.”

“Scott!” No mercy then. “What is happening with you? You’ve never behaved like this. Just… disappearing all day without a word and then coming back late, drunk? I’m worried.”

Scott rolled his eyes.

“Sara, I’m a big boy. And for the first time I actually feel alive. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. So give me a break.”

“I had to lie to Dad to cover for you today.”

Scott snapped to attention, staring at her wide-eyed. Ah, shit. That explained the mood. Shit, shit, shit…

“What did you say?”

“That you were with Jaal, playing cards. You’re welcome.”

Scott heaved out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.  “Thanks, sis. I owe you.”

“You do. And you can start by telling me what’s going on. No bullshit.”

Scott chewed on his lower lip. Then shook his head.

“No, I can’t. Not yet.”

“Scott…”

“Not yet. Please. You’ll know soon enough. But… it’s all still so fresh. I don’t want to jinx it.”

“That’s not good enough, Scott.”

Scott sighed. She wouldn’t let this go, would she?

“I met someone, okay? I... I met a lot of amazing people. But he—”

“You have a lover?!” Sara gasped, torn between being scandalized and curious.

“No, no! I mean… It’s… Uh, I don’t know, it’s complicated. But I want to know him better.”

Sara rubbed her cheek, worry and upset fighting for dominance in her eyes.

“You know how risky this is, don’t you?”

“I know. But I can’t change who I am, Sara. I tried playing by the rules. I really did. And I was days away from suicide before he appeared in my life.”

Seeing the heartbroken expression on her face, he felt like an asshole. But he was telling the truth. He couldn’t lie, not about this.

“And what about me?” she asked. “I’m not making you happy?”

“It’s not the same, Sara. I care about you. A lot. But you have Jaal now. And you’re gonna marry him one day and leave me behind. It’s how it goes.”

She said nothing, recognizing the truth in his words. Her shoulders slumped and she cast her gaze to the floor.

“I know what I’m doing,” he insisted. “I promise. Please, trust me.”

Finally, she nodded, albeit without conviction.

“Fine. I’ll trust you.” She sighed. “For now. Don’t make me regret it.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll try to keep Dad in the dark. But I’ll be watching you. And I want to know what’s going on. I expect an update soon.”

“I promise.”

Her expression softened.

“You know that I nag you because I love you, right? And that I’ll always have your back. Twins for life, double trouble.”

Scott smiled, touched. He walked across the room and hugged her.

“I know. I love you too.” He kissed her forehead and she awkwardly patted his back, embarrassed. She probably hadn’t expected an emotional onslaught at this hour.

“God, Scott, you stink.” She pulled away, scrunching her nose. “What did you drink? Fish entrails cocktail?”

Scott burst out laughing.

“I wish, sis. I wish…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs used in this chapter:  
> [The Greatest Show](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IhOCFuCdjw/)  
> [The Other Side](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OX6pEeVVVo/)  
>   
> Shoutout to KINGBeerZ who gave me the idea of SAM (or Sam here) being the Ryder family butler. 
> 
> ALSO! Jol Balrok drew me a fantastic Reyes fanart. [Check it out!](http://jolbalrok.tumblr.com/post/177528237885/this-is-the-greatest-show-inspired-by/)  
> 


	8. I Know That There’s a Place For Us

“That was amazing,” Reyes said, and to give more meaning to his words, rewarded Scott with a round of applause. “I never had any doubts that you will be a superstar of this show.”

Scott smiled, the weariness and all the tiny pangs of hurt instantly forgotten. His body might rebel after hours of being confined in his extravagant costume and rehearsing his big solo number, but Reyes’ praise soothed him like nothing else. On his own, Scott knew that he wouldn’t be able to do it, defeated by doubt and initial blunders. Thankfully, he wasn’t on his own. Reyes was there for him all the time, cheering him on every step along the way.

“Thanks.” Scott pulled the mask up on top of his head and wiped his sweaty forehead with his forearm, smearing glitter generously over his skin. At this point glitter had nested in every nook and cranny of his body, impossible to remove completely. Strangely, he didn’t mind. Part of living the showbusiness life. “I want my debut to be spectacular.”

“It will be.” There was so much confidence in Reyes’ voice that Scott’s heart grew three sizes. “With a teacher like me? Please.” He winked, all playfulness.

Scott laughed, drunk on happiness. “Yeah. I’m sure that if you wanted you could teach a fish how to ride a bicycle.”

“That’s exactly what I am going to do next. _Vidal’s House of Fish Cyclists_.”

Scott laughed again. It came so naturally around Reyes, all these impromptu bursts of joy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed freely and honestly like that, not with sarcasm or just politely straining his facial muscles after hearing something painfully stupid. His emotions now were genuine and expressed as such. His world wasn’t dull and gray anymore. Reyes had brought all the colors of the rainbow to it.

And out of all the colors he still liked the gold of Reyes’ eyes the most.

“I’m taking a break now, would you… would you like to grab something to eat with me?” Scott asked, stuttering a little. He wasn’t flustered, just maybe still a little in awe of this man. They had already dined together before, several times actually. Each one was amazing, Reyes being an incredible storyteller. Truly a master of words with a smooth voice to boot. Scott could listen to him for hours, tiny hearts floating all around his head. Well, of course he had to be subtler than that. Even among freaks certain things might be too much. He’d rather not risk being kicked out of the circus for perversion. If those golden eyes ever glared at him with hatred… no, he wouldn’t survive that.

Reyes shook his head. “I wish I could but I have a few errands to run.” He seemed truly regretful. Scott wished he could cup his face and kiss him to make that sad expression go away. “See you later at Umi’s for a quick drink?”

“Sure.”

Reyes tipped his top hat and winked. That goddamn wink, always turning Scott’s legs to jelly. Like a fool, he saw Reyes off with his gaze until the man disappeared backstage.

Scott sighed. Life wasn’t fair. If only he’d been born a woman he might get a chance with the handsome Charlatan. But as it was now? Hopeless. Perhaps even more so since Reyes and Keema clearly had something going on. He could see how comfortable they were around one another, that had to mean something. The more he saw them together, the more convinced he was. They seemed to carry on entire conversations with nothing but a brief exchanged glance.

Scott shook his head. No, he wasn’t here to wallow in misery. That he might as well do at home. Here, in this incredible theater and among these unique people, he had no reason to feel bad. Here, life was full of adventure and glitter. Regardless of Reyes being his or not, at least under this roof he could be himself. Well, more like himself than anywhere else. Some secrets unfortunately had to stay hidden even in an otherwise safe haven.

Dropping the thoughts of gloom and doom, Scott walked across the wings, bustling with activity. People were rushing in all directions, joking and bantering as they went. Only here could you see an acrobat jumping over someone’s head and then climbing the balustrade of the stairs or the world’s strongest girl using a dwarf as a dumbbell, both casually discussing the newest cuts for fashionable dresses this season. On his first days, Scott just stood in the middle, speechless and overwhelmed, soaking that atmosphere in. Now he’d gotten used to it. Even better, he’d become a part of it.

Something whizzed right past his ear, causing him to flinch. A hammer, heavy and solid. If it had crashed into his head…

“Shit. Sorry!”

Scott looked up. One of the technicians on the catwalk was scratching his neck, a dismayed expression on his face.

“Hey, butterfingers!” Scott yelled up to him, more teasing than critical. “You want to be a part of the show? Juggler who can’t catch even one ball?”

“Don’t be an ass!” The technician snorted, not offended. “Be a darling instead and get me that hammer, will ya?”

“Sure thing, Gil.” Scott extended his hand, summoning his biotic powers. The tool floated right to the ceiling. Gil caught it deftly.

“Thanks, bud.”

“You’re welcome. Just be careful next time. It might have ended ugly.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

Gil offered him a playful salute and Scott repaid him in kind. He liked Gil a lot. Even if the other night the man had completely destroyed Scott at poker. Good thing that Reyes avenged him and won back his clothes or Sam would have been really upset.

Speaking of clothes, Scott needed to change into something less flashy if he wanted to go out and grab something to eat. No sane person would serve a half-naked man dressed like a bird.

“Scott.”

Or maybe his plans had just been altered.

He looked over his shoulder.

“Keema. Hi.” She was in her stage outfit as well, the feral lioness. Her smile wasn’t particularly dangerous though. Scott wished he could actually dislike her for being an item with Reyes but he couldn’t. She was too nice and too good company to be around to end up the target of his jealousy. “What’s up?”

“Care to join me?” she said, patting the little bundle of newspapers she cradled in her arms like a newborn child. “Fish and chips. It’s lukewarm at best, but at least you won’t need to ditch the costume. I won’t judge.”

Scott grinned, his stomach rumbling with excitement. “Keema, you’re the best.”  

“I know.” She chuckled and nodded to indicate a nearby table in the corner. It was covered with dust and a random assortment of odds and ends. Nothing a solid biotic push couldn’t clear in a second. They sat down, on the outside of the usual hustle and bustle. It was already less hectic than normal, the performers and the crew taking a break as well. The atmosphere became more lax, full of casual chatter and joyous munching on food.

Keema rolled out the newspaper and the strong tang of probably not-so-fresh smoked fish hit Scott’s nostrils like a brick. Not as bad as the drink he had consumed at Umi’s during his first night out but close. The chips were burned, greasy and way too small. At home, even his family’s servants wouldn’t be given something of such poor quality, he wouldn’t even see anything like this in his neighborhood. Regardless, he smiled at Keema and tore a chunk of the fish and took a few chips when she offered.

It was the tastiest meal he had ever eaten in his life. Quails in truffle sauce had nothing on this.

The fact that Scott didn’t have to pay attention to which cutlery to use, keep his elbows off the table and other such etiquette nonsense was an added bonus. Sprawled on his chair, he happily gobbled up the meal, not caring in the least that he might look like a pig at the trough. Keema, surprisingly, ate slowly and gracefully, although that perhaps had something to do with not wanting to get the food tangled in her mane.

Scott vaguely remembered a lesson from his governess telling him that only male lions had a mane, but at the House of Wonders no one cared about such minute details. Gaudiness over accuracy, he supposed.

“So… Scott,” Keema started, her feline eyes peering into him intently. Sometimes he thought that her gaze could pierce right through to a person’s soul. “You’ve been here two weeks or so. How do you like our little community?”

“It’s amazing,” he replied with his mouth full, a piece of the fish nearly falling off his lips. If only Dad could see him now. “I’ve never been in a better place. Everyone is so nice and friendly.”

“True. The solidarity of freaks.” She nodded, amused. “If everyone is against you, you need staunch allies to survive.”

He supposed that was true. Allies…

“I would rather call them my friends.”

“Allies, friends, the same thing here. Someone to have your back.”

He hummed in agreement, stuffing his mouth with chips, thinking that was it. However, she wasn’t finished yet.

“Although I must say that when it comes to friends… you have one that is particularly close to you…” Keema said, her voice almost like a purr. Maybe there was more feline quality to her than just the eyes and facial structure.

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his chair. A traitorous blush tinted his cheeks but he decided to play dumb anyway. She couldn’t know about his crush, could she? Was she jealous? Or upset? Not good.

“Oh, Keema… I like you very much too!”

She laughed, clearly not buying his bullshit. She was too smart for that.

“Well, I’m flattered, Scott, you’re very charming. Although I must say that I had someone else in mind. Someone going by the Charlatan’s name. Who also, incidentally, seems very fond of you.”

Without even realizing it, Scott reached for the newspaper and tore small pieces from it, one by one. His hands shook and his whole body seemed to shiver as he tried to appear as small as possible. Not an easy feat for someone six feet tall.

“He likes all the employees. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have hired them.” That made sense, right?

Keema shook her head. With the added mane it was truly a majestic gesture.

“Reyes is far too practical to let something as trivial as personal likes or dislikes get in the way of business. That being said, you must be quite special if he wants to spend time with you outside of work. And almost every day at that.” She paused, smiling again in that all-knowing way that made Scott sweat all over. “He really likes you.”

The poor newspaper was slowly turning into confetti under Scott’s awkward ministrations.

“If anything, he likes my biotics.”

“Of course he does, your power is remarkable. And it’s probably what caught his attention in the first place. Reyes is not an easy man to impress,” she said matter-of-factly. “But if that was the only thing going on here, I can’t imagine why he would slow dance with you on a table. Or keep staring at you the way he does.”

Scott’s heart decided to become a gymnast and practice somersaults all over his chest.

“And how does he stare at me?” he asked, hating how his voice came out almost as a squeak. Judging by Keema’s smile she had not only noticed but also was enjoying herself immensely.

“You should know that, Scott. Especially since you stare at him in the same way.”

Scott paled, mortified. Was he that transparent? And if so, did the Collective know? Were they gossiping about him? Were they looking at him with disgust behind his back? Calling him a dirty invert, a pervert, and tsk like people from his own social sphere did while trading scandalous gossip?

His life-long paranoia had him in its clutches again.

“Reyes Vidal is a man and so am I. It’s… illegal to pursue any kind of relationship with a person of the same gender,” he replied defensively. Realizing that he sounded just like Alec, Scott felt a bad taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with dinner. 

Keema put up her hands in a calming gesture. “Just because something is illegal, doesn’t automatically make it wrong.”

With that Scott could agree. Cold panic coursed through his body nonetheless.

“And as far as I know, the artistic community doesn’t care about legality all that much anyway.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“No? And what about your feelings towards Reyes?”

Scott had chills all over. This wasn’t happening, no, no, no…

“I don’t harbor any feelings towards him.”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I might be ugly but I’m not blind. Or stupid. Talk to him.”

Scott looked up at her from the abused newspaper. Was she saying what he thought she was saying?

“If you like him you should tell him. Simple as that.” She put her deformed hand on his and gave him a light squeeze before taking it away. A gesture of reassurance. “Life’s too short to be miserable.”

Scott blinked at her, confused. He didn’t understand. Was she encouraging him to be with Reyes? Really?

“Keema, but… Aren’t you and Reyes…? Aren’t you a couple?” he asked, warily. “And in love?”

“A couple?” Keema gawked at him as if he’d suddenly turned into a goat. “Me and Reyes? In love?” Her shoulders shook, her lips twitched, a gurgling noise started somewhere deep in her throat.  She threw her head back, an unstoppable force of laughter taking her wholly. Scott could only stare, a very strange and very baffled expression on his face, until she got herself together enough to be able to speak again. “No. We’re not a couple. Definitely not. The horror!” The very thought made her shudder. “You got it all wrong, Scott. I’m not his girlfriend, I’m his common sense.”

Scott stayed silent, unable to find the right words as Keema wiped away glitter-stained tears of joy from her cheeks. He didn’t know what he felt. Embarrassment – because he had just made an utter fool out of himself. Relief – Keema and Reyes seemed to be nothing but friends, a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Fear – he was vulnerable now, out in the open without knowing how things would turn out. Uncertainty – if he truly let Reyes in on this secret how would he react, would he throw him out of the show before his career even truly started? Hope – if he told Reyes that he loved him, would he be interested, would he say yes, would he kiss him?

Scott’s face was burning red. Again, Keema looked as if she was about to slaughter him with laughter. Which would be even worse now that more and more people were coming back from their break and taking interest in what was going on. Keema might be observant and trustworthy but he didn’t want everyone to know if there was even a sliver of a chance that they were still unaware. Scott needed to divert her attention away from him.

“So um… Keema, how’s your song going?”

He could only imagine how pathetic that question sounded, but she was gracious enough to bite, her smile a clear indication that she could see right through him.

“Very well, actually. I think I almost finished it.”

“That’s great!” His enthusiasm was genuine, he knew how much that song meant to her. Not to mention how talented a singer she was. Part of the reason why he’d thought she and Reyes were involved was how amazing their voices sounded as they both sang onstage, in perfect harmony.

“Want to hear what I have?”

“Sure. Don’t be shy.”

“Oh, I’m never shy,” she said with a small chuckle. She then adjusted her mane, cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

“ _I'm not a stranger to the dark. Hide away, they say, ‘cause we don't want your broken parts. I've learned to be ashamed of all my scars. Run away, they say, no one will love you as you are…_ ”

Scott knew that part, he’d heard it before. But now there was more, Keema’s voice continuing its beautiful tune.

“ _But I won't let them break me down to dust, I know that there's a place for us. For we are glorious!_ ”

Scott had goosebumps all over his exposed skin. There was power in the lyrics, there was pride in her voice.

“ _When the sharpest words wanna cut me down, I'm gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out. I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I'm meant to be, this is me._ ”

Scott listened, entranced, in awe. No, it wasn’t just listening, these words awakened something in him, something he couldn’t even name.

“ _Look out ‘cause here I come and I'm marching on to the beat I drum. I'm not scared to be seen, I make no apologies. This is me!_ ”

The words were shooting straight into his soul, bypassing his ears. This is me… He thought of his otherworldly costume, of his strange powers, of the performance he had prepared, of the love he felt for Reyes. That was him, the true him. More real than that miserable aristocrat almost hounded to death by the expectations and rules he simply couldn’t follow. What he had now… that was freedom. That was his true self. And as he entered the stage tomorrow, he wouldn’t be ashamed to show it. And maybe later he wouldn’t be ashamed to show Reyes his true self as well.

All around them, the Collective stopped what they were doing and listened to Keema’s booming performance, the same spark of dignity and rebellion lighting up their features. All of them went through the same thing, all of them overcame the sneers and contempt to move on. All of them found their happiness here.

“ _Another round of bullets hits my skin. Well, fire away ‘cause today, I won't let the shame sink in. We are bursting through the barricades and reaching for the sun. We are warriors! Yeah, that's what we've become!_ ”

Scott started clapping to the rhythm and the others joined him.

“ _Won't let them break me down to dust, I know that there's a place for us. For we are glorious!_ ”

And like one glorious organism everyone smiled, pride swelling inside their chests. Scott felt it too. For the first time since God knew how long he felt comfortable in his own skin, the words smashing the protective walls he had erected around himself.

“ _When the sharpest words wanna cut me down, gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out. I am brave, I am bruised, I am who I'm meant to be, this is me!_ ”

And when the chorus started, Scott sang as well, quieter than Keema so as not to take attention from her, but not any less passionate. The others moved their lips as well, their universal anthem of freaks and outcasts. Not one of shame, but one of power, of owning who they were to the world and holding their heads high.

“ _Look out 'cause here I come and I'm marching on to the beat I drum. I'm not scared to be seen, I make no apologies, this is me!_ ”

Keema threw her arms into the air to mark the end of the song. Her reward was enthusiastic cheering, everyone in a chaotic frenzy of amazement.

She bowed gracefully and waved her hand with nonchalance, urging everyone to get back to their own business.

“That was amazing, Keema!” Scott said, his eyes glistening with tears that he barely stopped from spilling. “That song needs to be a part of the show!”

“Mhm, it will be. One day. Maybe sooner rather than later if you actually talk to Reyes. I have a feeling that he’d find it very difficult to say ‘no’ to you.”

Scott blushed and looked everywhere but Keema’s keen and knowing gaze. His heart thudded in his chest, high on the hope he felt.

Damn song, made him so emotional.

How could he deal with all this so close to his debut and not break down?

 

* * *

 

Throughout the course of his not-so-long life, Scott became proficient at sneaking in and out of his house. As children, he and Sara honed their burglary skills so they could walk around the city and explore the places they shouldn’t when their father was away on business. Now that set of skills was saving his life. Stealthily, like a thief in the night, Scott unlocked the back door with the spare key and slipped inside. Okay, that was easy. Now he just needed to go back into his room and pretend that he hadn’t left at all, busy reading the society column in the papers or some other boring crap a person of his social standing was supposed to do. He just needed to…

“Scott.”

Scott froze, his veins filling with ice. His father stood in the corridor, his arms crossed over his chest, his face twisted into a scowl, even more prominent than usual. Alec Ryder in all his displeased glory.

Shit, shit, shit.

What was he doing here at this hour? He should still be at a business meeting or in his office, or in a factory, wherever. Not here. It wasn’t that late yet. Did Sara betray him and spill the beans to their dad? No, it couldn’t be, he refused to believe that.

“Father.” He tried for a casual tone, hoping that it wasn’t obvious how much he was quaking in his boots. “Good evening.”

“Where were you?” Alec asked, right to the point, taking a few steps towards him. Scott had to fight the overwhelming urge to turn on his heel and run. “You’ve been going out a lot lately. And in a very clandestine manner. What are you up to, young man?” 

Shit. Shit, he was done for. Scott licked his lips, feeling that even his own sweat was becoming sweaty. He wished he was better at lying. Like Sara. She always knew what to say, what kind of bullshit to sell and make people buy it. Okay, first thing was not to panic, no matter how daunting it felt to be under Alec Ryder’s watchful gaze. Scott once again felt like a boy caught stealing cookies from the kitchen. But now his offence was far more serious. If Alec got even an inkling of what Scott was really doing… well, Scott might as well go and find a shovel to dig out his own grave.

What was that part about not panicking again?

“I-I’m sorry, Father. I was…” he stuttered.

“You were what?” Stern as always, not a trace of sympathy or understanding.

Scott had to think of something and he had to do it fast. Now.

Like a lightbulb, an idea came alive inside his brain. Oh God, he just needed to pull it off. Lie right to his father’s face. No big deal, right?

“I was in the library,” he said, hoping that his shoulders slouching in defeat weren’t overdoing it. So far, his father seemed primarily surprised, not yet suspicious.

“A library?” he echoed. The incredulity in his voice stung. As if he was surprised that Scott could read. That made Scott feel a little less awful about lying. Not that he had any other choice if he wanted to keep breathing.

“Yes. I’m sorry that I kept it a secret but I wanted to… to surprise you.” He swallowed hard, on the verge of tears. Shit, he needed to get himself together. “I mean… I know that I’ve fought a lot with you but now… I understand what my purpose is. I know now that one day I will inherit all our factories and everything. I need to be prepared. So I, um… I started reading books devoted to business and technical stuff to have a better idea how to manage everything once I’m the owner.”

Scott screamed inside, waiting for his father’s reaction. God, he surely wouldn’t buy that, would he? Scott had never spewed so much bullshit in his entire life. He braced himself for yells and insults.

What he did not expect to see was the face of his father softening.

“Scott.” Alec put his hand on his son’s shoulder. He looked as if he wanted to cry as well. “I must admit that you gave me a lot of reasons to be concerned. Frankly, I thought that you were a major problem, always behaving like a child full of tantrums. But I’m glad to see I was wrong. You’ve really matured. I’m very proud of you. And I’m sure Ellen would have been proud too.”

Scott didn’t know what he wanted to do more: burst into hysterical laughter or tears. He smiled but felt dead inside, the words of support to this fake persona like a punch to the gut, like poison aimed at his very soul. He said nothing, the dead smile plastered to his lips.

But it was enough for Alec. Appearances seemed to suffice. He patted Scott’s arm again and walked off, content in his own fantasy world with a son who would do everything he wanted without objections.

Scott just stood there, his heart a wasteland, as if someone had thrown a grenade and destroyed everything, razed it to the ground.

_“I'm not scared to be seen, I make no apologies. This is me!_ ” he sang, his hoarse whisper barely audible with how much his voice faltered.

One day he’d be brave enough to sing it proudly right into his father’s face.

One day.

But for now he escaped to his room and cried through the night.

How could he deal with all this so close to his debut and not break down?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keema's Song: [This is Me.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IfGmj_NZ85M)
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, they really mean a lot and keep me going.


	9. Where the Lost Get Found in the Crown of the Circus King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay. I will finish this fic or die trying, I promise.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy reading this chapter. Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, they mean a lot <3

For the umpteenth time, Sara looked around, her gaze gliding across the faces in the crowd. Not that she would see much in the dimmed light of the packed stands, but she strained her eyes and craned her neck anyway, hoping against hope to spot her brother. Without any success.

“I can’t believe it!” she huffed, slumping in her seat, her arms crossed over her chest. “The gall he has!”

“Don’t be upset, love.” Jaal put his big hand on her shoulder in a soothing gesture. “I’m sure Scott will come.”

“The show is about to start. And there aren’t any seats left around us. Or anywhere, really.” Sara tugged at the sleeves of the plain dress she had borrowed from the maid. That did little to curb her frustration with her brother. “First he invites me here, tells me to come no matter what, and then he doesn’t even show up? I’m going to kill him! Slowly! And painfully!”

“Relax, darling,” said Jaal. “Worst case scenario, we are going to spend a nice evening having fun together. While doing something we are not supposed to, which is always a nice bonus.” He smiled, a mischievous glint shining in his eye. “I really wanted to see this show myself, but my family did nothing but scoff at its slightest mention.”

Sara looked at her fiancé and smiled too. Even in the clothes of a factory worker, Jaal remained a true gentleman. Someone with infinite patience for her temper, someone who always could cheer her up, someone who shared with her a wild streak underneath all that propriety. She gave his hand a squeeze to show what words could not convey.

“I’ve already seen the show with Scott, two or three weeks ago,” she admitted, taking her hand away. “I thought it was okay but nothing special. Scott, however, became obsessed with it.” She rolled her eyes. “He went to see it again the day after and I’m pretty sure many more times since. That’s why I’m so surprised he’s not here. He wouldn’t miss this show just like that. I hope nothing bad happened to him…”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Jaal said with unwavering conviction, even if he had no way of knowing whether it was the truth or not. Sara wanted to believe him, she really did. But Scott had a propensity for getting into trouble.

“I’m worried about him, Jaal. He hasn’t been himself recently. I mean, he seems happy and everything, but he disappears somewhere every day and then returns at night, usually reeking of alcohol. I’m afraid he’s gotten entangled with unsavory company. You know how impulsive and rebellious he is. A big kid.”

“He’s an adult,” Jaal reminded gently.

“I wish he remembered that and behaved accordingly.” She pursed her lips, a sour taste on her tongue. Her mind was forming the most horrifying tableaus. Scott bleeding out somewhere in a ditch, murdered for card debts. Scott drunk out of his mind, tripping and falling into the bay. Scott carousing with some filthy inverts, getting caught red-handed and exposed to the public. “I just wish he would tell me what he’s doing. All this secrecy only makes me worry harder.”

“I think—”

Sara didn’t find out Jaal’s opinion on the matter. He paused when all the lights went out. An excited murmur rang across the stands. Most members of the audience didn’t even know what to anticipate.

Sara did. She waited impassively. What changes in the program could be made in two weeks?

“ _Woh-oh-oh-ah!_ ”

As Sara expected, the shout came from the darkness, followed by loud stomping, eliciting fear and delight. The line repeated a few times before a single spotlight shone on the middle of the stage, revealing a man in a golden top hat and red suit.

“ _Ladies and gents, this is the moment you’ve waited for,_ ” he sang, his voice booming through the whole theater. Sara had to admit that this so-called Charlatan had something in him, a rare charisma that could win over the crowd seemingly without effort. Even she, in general harboring lukewarm feelings towards the whole spectacle, found herself under his spell.

As the song went on, Sara discreetly glanced at Jaal’s face. Her fiancé barely blinked, enchanted. Well, no surprise there, she knew he’d like it. Again, she looked around the crowd, hoping to spot Scott. It was impossible in the dark and with so many spectators. She sighed and turned back to the stage for lack of another alternative.

The music boomed and the lights blazed on, revealing the whole stage. More than twenty performers pranced like hyperactive rabbits around the master of ceremonies, each fantastical costume more outlandish than the last. Despite having seen it all already, Sara didn’t know where to look. At the firebreathers? At the acrobats, jumping through rings high above the ground? At the girl younger than herself, carrying two huge dumbbells under her armpits? At the masked man covered in blue feathers, spinning around the stage like a leaf on the wind, glitter on his skin shining brighter than stars with his every move?

Intrigued, Sara was drawn most to that blue pixie, her eyes travelling back to him over and over again. She was quite certain that she hadn’t seen him here before. She would have remembered him. Perhaps there had been some changes to the repertoire after all.

The song came to an end. The cast bowed, the audience generous with their clapping and cheers. Only the emcee remained on stage to announce the first performance with a flourish, giving the technicians time to prepare everything backstage. Although Sara tried to resist, she got swept up by the magic and luster. Her worry about Scott didn’t dissipate but moved somewhere to the back of her mind. She gasped at death-defying acts, laughed with the audience at funny shenanigans, listened to the catchy songs with pleasure. Jaal too was having a good time, excited like a little kid. She found that adorable. And infectious.

So far, she’d noticed one new song, performed by the Charlatan and the Lioness in perfect harmony. She wondered briefly if there was something between them. Seemed likely with how at ease they were with each other. Or they were simply that good at their job.

Aside from that one song, everything was going more or less as she remembered. Act after act, impressive but familiar. The feathered man was nowhere in sight. She was looking forward to his performance, being quite curious. Finally, her patience was rewarded.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The Charlatan was alone onstage again, his accented voice booming loud enough to be heard even in the back rows. “This night is full of wonders, but you are about to see something that defies the understanding of a rational mind. Something that defies logic. Something that defies gravity. The spirit of air, bewitched by an ancient spell and bound to my will, has come here to flaunt his magic and entertain you. The wildest element, docile like a lamb but playful like a hummingbird. The newest member of the Collective with his never before seen number. Please welcome… The Tempest, master of the winds!”

The Charlatan ran offstage. The lights went out. The clapping died down as the audience noticed gentle, soothing music fill the auditorium. Eerie, as if composed and performed by the fae of legends, the chilling melody of flutes and chimes. The atmosphere was full of wonder, as the people waited with bated breaths to see what would happen. Sara waited too, hungry for a new experience.  

Pale light shone on the stage, only adding to the supernatural ambience. A masked silhouette stepped into the magical halo, slowly revealed to the audience. Barefoot, the feathered man ambled lightly, in tune with the music, his grace beyond human reach, seemingly oblivious to d everything happening around him. He cradled a wicker basket full of flower petals in his arms. In a fluid motion, he reached inside, took a fistful of petals and threw them in the air. They fell down around him in a colorful cascade. The pixie repeated the action again and again, until the basket was empty and the floor around him resembled a meadow. He put the basket aside and twirled among the flowers, carefree and playful, untamed like a true forest sprite. He froze for a moment, looked left and right, as if checking if someone was watching him. An impish smile appeared on his face. The music became louder, gaining pace and urgency with each note.

The Tempest threw his head back, laughed, spread his arms. His whole body fired up with purple energy. The petals shot into the air, spinning all around him as if snatched up by a tornado.

Sara’s gasp was just one among many. But only her voice carried the sounds of horror and recognition.  

“Sara? Are you okay, love?” Jaal asked, leaning closer. She didn’t even look at him. Wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open, she stared transfixed at the stage.

“Scott!”

“What? Sara—”

“Scott! That’s Scott! Oh my God!”

 

* * *

 

Backstage was always on fire during every performance. People running left and right, fetching props, fixing makeup, repairing outfits, doing last-minute rehearsals to assuage the stage fright. Reyes was usually the same, repeating lines or giving out orders. But not tonight. Not since the moment Scott walked out on stage. Reyes peeked from behind the curtain, glued to the spot, his eyes not leaving the Tempest as he walked to center stage with the basket full of petals.

“Oh my.” The amused voice in his ear came so unexpectedly that Reyes nearly jumped out of his skin. “You seem nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” he grumbled. Keema, who else? He shot her a grim look over his shoulder. “It’s his first performance in front of the audience.”

“You’ve seen him at rehearsals. He poured his whole heart into this. He’s amazing.”

“I know. But it’s always different during an actual show.” Reyes got back to his observations. He knew Keema well enough to realize that it wouldn’t be enough to get her off his back. And he was right.

“Is that the only reason why you’re watching him? Pure professional interest?”

“Yes. What else could it be?” It sounded hostile, like a veiled ‘back off’ threat. But Keema wasn’t one to be intimidated by anything.

“You like him.” A statement of fact. Reyes felt a drip of sweat run down his back, which only exacerbated his irritation.

“Of course I like him. I like all of my workers. Even you, despite your incessant obnoxiousness.”

“But you _like_ like him.”

Reyes risked a glance at her. She smiled smugly and he felt tempted to punch that smile off her face. 

“Nonsense. You’re seeing things.”

“Oh yes, I’m actually seeing plenty of things. Like the puppy eyes you make at him every time he enters the room.”

“I do _not_ make puppy eyes at anyone.”

“Mhm.” Her smile morphed into a shameless grin. “Just like you didn’t slow dance with him on a table in a bar?”

“Once. I was drunk. He was too.”

“Mhm. And it’s not like you seek every chance you get to spend time with him, talk to him and make him laugh at your dumb jokes?”

“He’s an interesting individual,” Reyes said with a frown. She was grilling him so hard that he was sweating all over beneath his outfit. An increasing physical and mental discomfort soured his mood. “I don’t know what you’re getting at but stop. Or I’ll fire you.”

Keema snorted, unperturbed. “No, you won’t.”

“And why not? You fancy yourself irreplaceable?”

“Yes,” she said simply. Not with arrogance, but with confidence. “Because you need someone to be honest with you, especially when you’re not being honest with yourself.”

Reyes glared daggers at her but said nothing. Keema really had no respect for anyone or anything. Infuriating. Ignoring her, he went back to watching the show, trying to forget her presence.

On stage, Scott was in his element, a true force of nature set free. Reyes never doubted that Scott could make it. All the initial failures only made him more determined and resilient. Scott was incredible, magical. On stage and off it.

Reyes felt his heart swelling in his chest. He couldn’t look away.

 

* * *

Sara sat in her seat absolutely stunned, locked in a world of the absurd and grotesque.

Scott. Scott was that man on the stage. That man who had rolled in glitter and wore a skimpy costume adorned with blue feathers. The man who used his biotic powers freely, on full display before hundreds of people. The outfit had deceived her, but there could be no doubt who was underneath it. Now that she knew where to look, all the clues were there. The height, the posture, the laugh. It was her brother. It was Scott.  

In that moment, Sara was too numb to feel anything—but if she could have, she’d be angry at herself. She should have known, shouldn’t she? Scott’s weird behavior, his cryptic attitude, the hints, the tickets he gave her. It was so obvious now. She just never thought that it could come to this. To this… this… _this_! The words eluded her.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, she remained motionless, able only to gawk. She barely registered Jaal’s hand on her arm, anchoring her to reality, no matter how absurd it currently was.

Scott flew among the petals, beautiful and magical. Truly the master of the wind, he made them form a giant heart in front of him — the women in the audience awwed — before they obediently fell like a motley waterfall back into the basket. Now it was the basket that was uplifted by the purple energy. It floated above Scott’s head and turned upside down, the petals falling onto Scott in a soft, fragrant rain. But that was just the beginning of the spectacle.

The music changed. Less eerie, more energetic, and exciting. Scott reached out his arm, bathed in purple aura, towards backstage and summoned with his powers an assortment of items: a chair, a hoop, a broom, a ladder. They joined him and the basket in the air, forming an impossible V-formation, always changing and fluctuating, elegant like a ballet.  

But even that wasn’t enough, wasn’t the full extent of the amazing power at Scott’s disposal, unleashed so freely and with so much finesse. Half of his face was concealed under the mask, but his smile didn’t falter as he concentrated to bring something special into the light. Something the audience couldn’t have even dreamed of.

An elephant.

A real elephant enveloped in purple light was flying towards Scott with its trunk raised in greeting. The audience rubbed their eyes, thinking it was just an illusion. The animal trumpeted, dispelling any doubts as to its authenticity.  

Scott, agile and playful like an imp, flew to the elephant and jumped on its back. As if the elephant was a Pegasus, Scott took it on an aerial ride around the stage. All the other items, the petals included, followed them like a comet’s tail as they made rounds above the stage. Scott laughed and grinned at the audience. This was his element, the chaotic surfing on biotic winds.

Jaal’s jaw dropped, his surprise turning into delight. He clapped and cheered along with the rest of the ecstatic audience, seemingly unbothered that he was watching Scott. Here, in the circus, biotics wasn’t something to be feared but something to be admired, something extraordinary and wonderful, out of this world but in the most positive sense.

Sara was lost in thoughts. She had seen Scott use his powers before, of course, when he was feeling especially naughty and wanted to irritate Dad. But it was always something minor, like making a book fly to his hand. Or floating up the stairs. Or chucking the house keys into the garden to prank Sam. But this? Sara had never seen anything like this. It was even hard to comprehend. She realized how little thought she had devoted to Scott’s powers. They were always there, hidden, out of sight and out of mind. They seemed like such a minor thing, hardly worth making a fuss over. Seeing all this, seeing Scott riding an elephant in the air as if it was nothing, made her wonder about the extent of Scott’s magic, made her understand Dad better, made her sympathize with those who feared magic.

She was afraid. A part of her, at least. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was feeling. Too many emotions at once after the initial stupor. Disappointment, for sure, that Scott hid all of this from her. And anger. Oh yes, anger. No fear would stop her from facing her brother and telling him right to his face what she thought about him.

No matter what he was able to do, he wouldn’t actually hurt her, right?

 

* * *

 

“Ah-ha. That mushy look again.” Keema laughed, pulling him out of his reverie. Reyes averted his gaze from the floating elephant and narrowed his eyes at her.

“What?”

“Nothing, case in point. Anyway, who do you think Scott is? Because if he’s a simple clerk or a worker as he pretends to be then I’m the Queen of England.”

Reyes sighed. That mystery had been on his mind as well.

“Clearly someone from a higher stratum of society. Rich, somewhat spoiled, never having to work an hour in his life before coming here.”

“An aristocrat?”

“Maybe.” Reyes shrugged. “A tenth son of a well-off landowner, bored to tears? Or an offspring of a moderately successful lawyer, who’d rather run away to the circus than pursue the career Daddy had chosen for him? I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter. For me, he’s just Scott.”

“Just _Scott_.” The smug smile on Keema’s face should be illegal. “Pity that he’s not a woman though. You might have asked him for his hand and married into nobility.”

Reyes turned around, clenching his fists. “I don’t need a wife to enter high society,” he spat. It was a touchy subject, one that he didn’t want to discuss with anyone, not even Keema. “I will get there on my own. In fact, I’ve already taken some steps towards that goal. It will pay off soon, you’ll see.”

She hummed in response. Hard to tell if she agreed with him or was simply indulging him.

“Anyway, perhaps marriage isn’t on the table, but you should still tell him that you like him. It would save you both a lot of drama. And stupid pining.”

“I have no idea what—”

“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “Why are you both treating me like an idiot? I know what’s going on. Tell him after the show.”

Reyes’ knee jerk reaction was to fake ignorance or just plainly yell at her to shut up. But he was tired. And Scott’s performance was coming to an end. Reyes had to get ready to get back on stage with the huge fake smile plastered to his face and oozing energy of which he had none. He picked at some lint on his jacket, avoiding her gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Keema. Nothing good will come out of it.”

“Reyes Vidal.” She sounded stern, like a governess upset with a particularly dumb pupil. On instinct, he tensed and listened. “I know you are many things but I never took you for a coward.”

Reyes recoiled as if she had slapped him. He wanted to reply, defend himself, but he didn’t get a chance. The clapping told him that Scott’s performance had come to an end. Time to go out there and be the Charlatan.

Reyes sighed and, with one last look at Keema, tilted his hat askance, the only nervous tick he allowed himself to combat stress. The transformation was complete. Confident, amazing, king of the world, the Charlatan ran to the stage with a bright smile on his face, leaving Reyes Vidal behind.

 

* * *

 

The elephant finally landed on the ground again and all the other items dropped listlessly around it. The audience went wild, their enthusiasm shown by a round of rousing applause and cheerful hooting. Scott, smiling, bowed, the feathers stuck to his head swiping the floor as he bent down in thanks. A few more bows and he straightened up, waved at the audience and extended his hand. The purple aura flaring up again, he lifted everything left on stage and took it with him backstage, pulling them after himself like oversized kites.

From that point on, Sara barely paid attention to what was happening onstage. Other acts started and finished with her none the wiser. The finale came and went, the performers received their applause. Scott was there with them right at the Charlatan’s side, so completely different than his normal self, not only because of the outrageous outfit. So full of life, joy, not at all ashamed of who he was.

Sara felt conflicted. And determined, maybe even more than before.

Once the curtain fell and the people started to leave, she turned to Jaal.

“Come with me. I need to talk to Scott.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Let’s go to the back door.”

“But the artists—”

Sara cut him off. “I don’t care. I will talk to him even if I have to personally punch everyone standing in my way.”

Jaal blinked at her, a little thrown off balance. She guessed he’d never seen before how driven she could get. She wouldn’t back down. Grudgingly, he seemed to accept it.

“Okay. Fine. Let’s go. We’ll try to minimize the punches, though, please?”

“No promises.” The crack of her knuckles sounded ominous.

 

* * *

 

Backstage, the mood was euphoric. Scott, his mask resting atop his head, had to blink away tears gathering in his eyes as everyone congratulated him on the stellar debut. His body was sluggish, tired, and aching from exertion, but he hardly registered it, riding on a high of adrenaline and rapture.

“You really did it, kid!” In his honor, Lynx lit a fistful of weird powder on fire and scattered it across the room. Like crystal droplets, it glistened with all the colors of the rainbow.

“Thanks!” Scott’s grin became even wider.

“Yeah. Wow.” Crux, perhaps not the most eloquent, but very honest with her praise, patted his back with such force that she knocked the wind out of him.  

“Th… thanks…”

“That was truly something.” Bob the Sniper nodded with recognition. “If I had to kill you I would aim for the head so that you wouldn’t suffer long.”

“Um… Thanks. I guess…”

Keema laughed, taking off her mane. She walked to him and leaned closer, her voice hushed. The words were for his ears only.

“I am impressed. But not as much as the one who really counts.”

She laughed and walked away. Scott felt his ears pulse with blood. Hopefully his makeup would conceal the blush spreading across his cheeks. It was pretty obvious who she was referring to. The very person who now stood in front of him, extending a hand to rest it on his arm.

“You were absolutely fantastic, Scott.”

Scott cleared his throat, fearing that the emotions would overwhelm him. He could barely speak, looking coyly at Reyes through his lashes.

“Thanks.”

“Party at Umi’s!” shouted someone, Gil probably, and a choir of frenzied voices expressed approval of that idea. The Collective, rowdy and loud even when sober, surged out of the room, ready to shed their costumes and celebrate another spectacular success. Scott wanted to join them, but as he took a step, he felt a grip on his arm. Surprised, he looked at Reyes.

“Scott…” His name sounded like a complete sentence, heavy with meaning Scott wasn’t sure how to interpret. Reyes Vidal, the Charlatan with a silver tongue, seemed to have trouble finding words. “Perhaps… you would like to spend the evening in another manner?”

“Another manner?” Scott echoed, his heart drumming the march of hope. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a special evening. Your debut. If you’d prefer… there are places quieter than Kralla’s Song. Places where… where we could be alone.”

Scott forgot how to use human language so he just stared at Reyes, who struggled to go on.

“I would like to talk to you about something. Uninterrupted. Is that okay with you?”

Talk? About what? Scott’s head was ready to burst with thoughts and worries. Was he getting fired? No, why would he? His performance was a huge success. Did… did Keema tell Reyes about his crush? Would Reyes tell him politely to back off, to keep his perverted hands to himself? Oh no, no, Scott knew he’d die if Reyes did that. Or perhaps… perhaps Reyes felt the same after all? Was Keema right in her observations? Could this work somehow?

The world was spinning around Scott and his quivering legs barely supported his weight. He opened his mouth to reply, to push past his anxieties and agree to the meeting.

“Hey, Scott!” The urgent voice made him look over his shoulder. Crux, already out of her costume, was running towards them. “Someone wants to see you!”

“Me?” A deep crease appeared on his forehead. “You sure?”

“Sure sure.” Crux stopped, took a few shallow breaths and continued. “There’s this huge guy. And a girl. Kinda looks like you but smaller. And she’s a girl when you’re a guy. Yeah. Says she’s your sister.”

Scott’s eyes widened. Oh fuck. Sara and Jaal. The tickets! He gave them to Sara two weeks ago. It completely slipped his mind with how much was happening around him. Whoops. Well, it wouldn’t be that bad, would it?

“Hope that she liked the performance,” he said, smiling at Reyes who looked at him questioningly. “Probably wants to congratulate me.”

“Well… I’m not sure,” said Crux. “She looked kinda pissed.”

Scott’s face fell. The joy, the excitement, the rush of success and possibilities was gone. Sara… was upset? Why? Because he didn’t say anything? Or because he became a part of the show in the first place? Uncertain, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“Go meet her, Scott,” Reyes said, his voice gentle and full of understanding. “Use my office if you want some privacy.”

“Thanks.” Scott nodded, grateful for the offer and the sign of trust. “It won’t take long.”

Walking alone through the corridor, Scott hoped that the outcome of this encounter would be better in reality than the one playing out in his head.

 


End file.
